


Anchors In A Storm

by inadaze22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Adult Draco Malfoy, Adult Hermione Granger, All problems can be solved through property damage, Angst and Romance, BAMF Hermione Granger, Community: hp_drizzle, Department Head Draco Malfoy, Department of Mysteries, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, F/M, Flooding, Friends With Benefits, HP Drizzle Fest 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Impractical bath sex, Indoor Monsoons, Magical Accidents, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Senior Undersecretary Hermione Granger, Side pairing: Blaise Zabini/Padma Patil, Snarky Draco Malfoy, someone tried to be sexy and it failed, there's a lot of rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25895995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inadaze22/pseuds/inadaze22
Summary: Draco’s current mistake—well, it wasn’t simply one, but three—was a chain of seemingly unconnected events that, when spliced together just so, made one hell of a shit storm.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 113
Kudos: 602
Collections: HP Drizzle Fest 2020, The Dramione Collection





	1. King of the Clouds

_**1** _

_King of the Clouds_

Draco hated making mistakes.

Not because he thought that mistakes proved his flaws as a human. After all, he was more than aware of his own shortcomings and never avoided blame for his mistakes. But he never actively tried to make himself into some sort of redeemed saint.

The reason he hated mistakes was simple: if he made one, he would have to start over.

And he _hated_ starting over.

Starting over meant that he’d failed— _again._

It meant that he had to step back, take a hard look at himself, and decode each of his actions in an attempt to figure out what he’d gotten wrong in the first place. _If he could_. Not only that, but then he had to make modifications and buff out the dull spots of himself just enough to ensure that he didn’t make the same mistake again, which involved more self-reflection than he cared to subject himself to.

Ergo, more mistakes.

It was an endless cycle of lather, rinse, repeat.

His current mistake—well, it wasn’t simply one, but _three_ —was a chain of seemingly unconnected events that, when spliced together just so, made one hell of a shit show.

The first? Well—he’d get to that.

The second mistake, which he’d made the Saturday _before_ the deluge started, was as straight-forward as it was messy. Messy didn’t quite capture it, really. Bloody awful.

In fact, Draco would much rather have a repeat experience with _Sectumsempra_ than fess up to _that_ particular mistake. He’d ruined something that had always been casual, and _he_ wasn’t even exactly sure where that blunder had come from. Nevertheless, he knew that it undoubtedly had to do with a mix of things: inappropriate timing, a brief lapse of good fucking _sense_ , and poor judgment on his part.

Best not to dwell on it.

The first, and probably most critical error, had been to ignore the puffy, nonthreatening cloud that appeared in the Artefact Room the day after the worst magic spill he’d ever seen in his twelve years of working in the Ministry. He should have known, two years after his promotion to Head of the Department of Mysteries—after spending three years as Head of the Research Division, to boot—that spontaneous cloud formation was more than it seemed.

In fairness to his ego, magical clouds weren’t unusual in a department where a lot of weird shite happened that no one was allowed to talk about. And so, when it had first formed ten days ago, in the early hours when all was quiet and calm, he paid it no mind. 

It was on the Monday following his colossal second mistake that his first mistake started to come into focus.

Draco had been in his office, reviewing the latest new prophecy count and noticing the spike in activity of the encephala. He’d been _just_ about to sign off on a request from the Brain Room to devote more time to the sudden spike in encephala activity when the cloud—now thicker, but overall, still apparently harmless—escaped the Artefact Room. It had invaded the halls like a brooding force, seeping into the cracks of each room, each office, and crawling up the walls, coating the ceiling in thick fog.

Without any real concern, he’d calmly written to the other Department Heads and Minister Shacklebolt’s Senior Undersecretary, who attended on his behalf, and just so happened to be Hermione Granger. He requested they postpone their monthly status meeting—scheduled for that afternoon—and instead, use the time to meet with _both_ Artefact Room research teams.

Granger was the only one who’d responded, but he’d skimmed her note quickly before his meeting with the Brain Room team, who wanted to demonstrate exactly how aggressive the encephala had gotten.

And as he watched the brains swirl manically around their tank, he started thinking.

_Magic spill. Invading cloud. Disturbances in the Time Room. Louder whispers from The Veil in the Death Chamber. Aggressive encephala._

For the first time, Draco wondered if the cloud was responsible for the disturbances in his department— _all_ of them.

He’d walked out midway through the Brain Team’s information dump, and headed directly to the source: the Artefact Room. After a magical scan of every artefact in the room, the Keeper, a portly man named Broadmoar, announced that his team had found the artefact that caused the cloud to form in the Dormant section. It was a smooth, black runestone with unfamiliar symbols that glowed gold.

Draco had initially thought that Broadmoar must have been mistaken, as the stone was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand—and _surely_ such a small thing couldn’t cause a cloud like _that_. But then the Keeper had instructed one of his Unspeakables to hit it with a blasting charm, and the bloody thing _absorbed the charm_ and vibrated, glowing just a bit brighter.

Broadmoar was as animated as Draco was apprehensive.

Draco had no idea where the stone had come from, how long it had been there, or what the glowing symbols meant. The records from before the First War were spotty at best, and Broadmoar was desperate for permission to figure it out, _insisting_ that the Artefact Team could figure out the origin of the cloud. Draco, who trusted no one but himself, had verbally agreed not to close the room, but had immediately sent a request to the Magical Sanitation team ordering a second sweep for any lingering bits of raw magic.

He had also instructed everyone to change the wards on the bookshelves to make sure they could withstand anything. He had a bad feeling about… well, everything.

Now, two days later, during his weekly status meeting with the head of the Research Division, Padma Patil—actually, it was Patil- _Zabini_ since she’d gone and married the most _annoying_ friend he had—the cloud abruptly turned from puffy white to an ominous grey. She pointed upward at it and said, “Are we going to act like that _didn’t_ just happen?”

Draco seriously considered doing just that. “Unfortunately, no.” He sighed. “I gave the Artefact Team permission to figure out the runestone’s origin, age, and what caused the cloud to form. It was in the dormant section, and as big as the palm of my hand, so I doubt anyone has ever bothered with it before. I don’t exactly trust Broadmoar not to fuck it up, so do me a favour.”

Padma arched a brow. “What’s that?”

“After we finish here, report to the Artefact Room and figure out what happened. Let me know if I need to _fire_ someone.”

The instruction turned out to be useless, however, because less than five minutes later, everything went to hell.

The first explosion rocked his office and felt like a mountain troll had crashed right through the walls of The Ministry. The three that followed spiralled everything into absolute and utter chaos. The walls and floor shook from the force and the sound left his ears buzzing.

Draco yelled at Patil to get under his desk, certain that the room was about to collapse around them, but she was just as obstinate as Granger and two steps behind him as he cut through the throng of screaming, evacuating Unspeakables and interns. They’d run into the Artefact Room and found both teams alive, but with no memory of what they had done.

_Just bloody great._

And as if his day—no, _week—_ couldn’t get any worse, it started raining.

Actually, to say that it was merely raining was a massive understatement.

There was a _monsoon_. In his department. On a fucking _Wednesday_.

Patil dispatched Healers from St Mungo’s for Broadmoar and his two teams of Unspeakables, who could barely remember their own names, while Draco made sure the ancient wards and spells would contain their problem; they couldn’t allow it to spread into other departments of the Ministry. 

He’d stupidly hoped the rain would stop, but it never did.

Which had led to his third mistake: thinking that _an intern_ Curse-Breaker would be bright enough to fix it. 

A headache was building behind his eyes as Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. _What_ did you just say?”

“There’s nothing I can do.” Dennis Wakefield, who officially ranked as the most incompetent Ministry employee, had addressed them an hour after the explosion with a full damage report. His tone was so nonchalant and ill-fitted for the clear _emergency situation_ happening around them that it was almost bizarre. “I can send a team to make sure the drains and pipes are all functional, but they seem to be working fine.”

Which was good because installing them had been the _only_ forethought whoever built the Ministry had possessed when it came to potential flooding. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if they failed.

Draco gave Patil a dispassionate glance that she interpreted with a grimace.

“Is that not something you can handle while you’re here?” she asked as amiably as one could while getting drenched.

Patil always said that capturing flies was easier with honey, but Draco didn’t give a damn about protecting anyone’s fragile feelings. In fact, the only thing he wanted was a warm shower. _At home_. Oh, and for it to _stop raining_ in his department. Also, the metaphor was stupid.

Rather than speak his mind, he turned his attention to the interns, who were setting the protection wards on the other artefacts, to make sure they were completing the task correctly. Draco frowned when one got too close to the likely _cursed_ runestone and was zapped for his trouble.

Not good.

“This is beyond my qualifications.”

Without turning around, Draco sneered. “Walking and _breathing_ at the same time are beyond your qualifications.”

Patil took probably her last patient breath—the one she always took before she started yelling. At someone. Okay, _him_. “I know you’re stressed and this is a shitty situation, but for once in your _damn_ life, can you _please_ refrain from being the utter _prat_ that you _are_?”

“Absolutely not.” He turned back to Patil and Wakefield, who wisely took a step back, looking nervously at Draco’s left arm where the scar of his Dark Mark was hidden under his sleeves and an elaborate concealment charm. Oh, for fuck’s sake. He had absolutely _no time_ for anyone who thought he was part of the next wave of genocidal maniacs—because, fuck that. And because he was soaked to the bone and shivering, his department was in controlled chaos, and he only had so many fucks left to give, Draco made a decision. “ _Get_ _out_.”

“ _Malfoy!_ ” Patil said through gritted teeth while both giving him her best scowl and stopping Wakefield, who in response to Draco’s dismissal had begun backing away slowly as if he were retreating from a vicious magical creature. “Ignore him. He’s a git on a good day, and today is _clearly_ not a good day for anyone. He didn’t mean that.” Her dark eyes narrowed into a withering glare. “ _Right_ , Malfoy.” Not a question.

There were only two people whose glare had been proven even _mildly_ effective against him, and one was his mother. The second was _not_ Patil. He met her stare with a ruthless smile. “I most _definitely_ meant it.”

She threw her hands up in surrender and turned her back to Draco. “Then what would _you_ suggest?”

Wakefield looked at her. Then at Draco. Then back at her. He swallowed and uselessly wrung out his soaked hat. “My only suggestion is a more experienced Curse-Breaker, but they’re all out on assignment and will be for _weeks_. The only reason _I’m_ here is because I’m two days out of training and travelling by Portkey makes me ill.”

Draco didn’t give two Knuts.

“We don’t have time to wait,” Patil said to Draco. “I just had an intern from the Space Chamber tell me that it’s raining upside down, and I’m scared to think what effect this is going to have on the brains. _Or_ the Time Room.”

Draco rubbed his eyes, deep in thought as the rain beat down on them all.

“Unless you know someone that’s gifted in a variety of magical specialties that can figure this out, then I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” He frowned and ran a hand through his soaking hair. “What you _can_ do is have Magical Maintenance come to make sure the pipes can handle the volume of water and ensure the drains won’t become clogged. The last thing I need is a damn flood.” He looked Wakefield up and down. “Oh, and when the Curse-Breakers do come, be sure you’re _not_ part of that team.”

There was a spark of anger in Wakefield’s eyes. “I happen to have achieved the _highest_ marks in my class.”

Draco blinked slowly, bored with the other man’s presence. “And now I’ll need to review the curriculum as I apparently have more questions than answers.” 

Patil, who had been too quiet during the exchange, spoke up. “We could always ask Hermione to help.”

It was quite possibly the very last thing Draco wanted to hear, but also not a surprise.

Granger had been the Minister’s Senior Undersecretary for three years now, but she was also every department’s resident deus ex machina. Not much of a surprise there. Smethwyck, Draco’s predecessor, had called on her so much before he retired that he’d granted her access to enter the Department of Mysteries without an escort (because without one, the updated wards were designed to keep out everyone without proper clearance, through any means necessary). Granger also led the organization that promoted interdepartmental relations, which meant she knew _everything_ that happened in _every_ department.

In some cases, people deferred to her over Minister Shacklebolt himself.

The fact that Patil’s first instinct was to call on Granger grated his nerves for three reasons. First, of course Granger was brilliant, but she wasn’t some sort of wizarding spectacle designed to ride in and use her almost limitless brainpower to fix their problems. Second, it was lazy as hell. And third, Draco had gone through extraordinary lengths _not_ to be around her since _she_ was the cause of his second mistake.

The one he refused to think about.

“I’d sooner ask Weasley,” Draco glowered.

“Which one?”

“ _Any of them._ ”

Patil gave him a look that could melt steel, but he knew she was laughing on the inside. They had started working at the Ministry on the very same day, Patil as an Unspeakable in the Time Room, and Draco as an intern in the Death Chamber (because _someone_ was feeling vindictive and wanted him to quit—which obviously never happened). They’d quickly worked their way up the department’s ladder, and truthfully, he probably should be working for _her_ , but Patil never wanted the responsibilities that came with being a Department Head.

So, here he was.

Being _punished_ for his ambition.

Patil was gritting her teeth so hard he thought they might crack. “I _really_ want to hex you right now.”

At that, he shrugged because Draco knew Patil well enough to know that she liked him about as much as anyone. “You and about a hundred other people. Get in line.”

Last year, she drank too much wine at the department’s Christmas party and told him that she enjoyed working for him and that she had rejected five job offers just to stay. She found him hilarious, tolerated his irascible nature, and—present moment excluded—Patil was about as level-headed as they came. She voluntarily handled the more social aspects that came along with running a department, like morale and holiday celebrations. Not to mention, she was the Department of Mysteries’ liaison for Granger’s indepartmental nonsense.

Because Draco, first and foremost, didn’t have the patience. Or the time.

Patil turned her gentle smile towards the witless wonder that stood there watching their exchange with a blank look on his face, then clasped her wet hands together. “Thank you for trying—” Draco’s snort earned him a dirty look that—once again—did not bother him one bit. “We’ll be in touch if we need further assistance.”

“We won’t.”

After giving him one last glare, Patil led the wet, useless wizard out of the Artefact Room and towards the main entrance of the department. Draco continued helping the interns seal up the room with every charm in their repertoire, salvaging whatever he could in the mess that was his office, and calling a late afternoon strategy meeting for all the Keepers to meet in the perfectly dry Void Room.


	2. Speaking In Riddles

**_2_ **

_Speaking in Riddles_

The Void Room was Draco’s favourite room in the department.

He wasn’t sure how it had earned its name, as the records were vague at best. The only thing he knew during his initial research when he’d joined the department was that there had been a deadly mishap in the room over two hundred years ago that made magic ineffective within its walls.

Which was a gross oversimplification of how complex the room actually was.

And that was why it was his favourite place.

It wasn’t simply that spells couldn’t be cast in the room; anything magical _ceased to be magical_ upon crossing the threshold. Wands were placed in a box outside the door because the room would render them useless. The room itself was twice the size of the Brain Room, with neutral walls, ceiling lights, and cement floors. Draco found it hilarious—and slightly ironic—that such an intriguing room was mainly used as a giant cupboard.

After all these years, he gave it a purpose, turning the room into a command centre of sorts and equipping it with tables and chairs he and the interns had dragged in from other rooms. Now it was a dry space until the rain stopped.

Draco lifted his head, scrutinising the entryway.

He had always known the properties of the room, but hadn’t seen it in practice quite like this.

Dry from the moment he’d stepped through the threshold, Draco extended his cupped hands out through the doorway to where rain continued to fall, trying to gather handfuls of it to see if he could track it into the room, but when he brought them through the threshold, the water in his hand immediately bubbled and vanished every time. He was so preoccupied with his experiment, trying to determine the exact moment the water vanished, that he didn’t notice the extra presence in the room with him.

“Are you done terrorising the general masses and playing in the rain?” came the very dry voice of his next aggravation—and friend—Blaise. He didn’t even work in the department, but rather in the International Magical Office of Law.

Draco sighed. “I wish I knew exactly why the wards don’t work on you.”

“I’ll take it to my grave.” His smirk was only slightly condescending, which was a step up from his usual leer. Blaise stood in the centre of the room, dressed in deep plum trousers and a black button down. Ah, he must have been meeting with some of his Muggle clients from his outside practice. “Padma was here, but she had to help cover the Veil. She said she would be back before your strategy meeting. Your other Keepers are finishing up in their rooms before they report here.”

“That _you_ aren’t supposed to know about. Stop using your wife for—” Thunder rumbled close by and his friend whistled lowly, stepping back as if it posed a threat to him. Draco rolled up the sleeves to his dress shirt up with a scowl. “Bloody hell, I don’t even care anymore.”

“A right mess you’ve got here.”

He hummed in agreement.

“Outside of checking on my wife, I’m here on official business.”

He kept his face perfectly blank. “The Minister?”

The entire Ministry must have felt the shockwave from whatever the Artefact Team had done, so Shacklebolt’s quick involvement wasn’t much of a surprise. Honestly, Draco was astonished that the Auror Brigade, led by Saint Potter, hadn’t shown up to get in their way and on his nerves.

“His mouthpiece.” Blaise gave him a meaningful look.

_Granger_.

Draco grimaced and his friend looked intrigued by his reaction.

“What does Granger want?” But Draco already knew the answer to the question. “Wait, don’t tell me. Stats. It’s always stats with her. Let’s see then. Sixteen injured, including one Keeper. Not as much damage as I anticipated— before you ask, yes, we warded everything and continue to make sure they’ll hold. However, the wards in the Artefact Room keep weakening for some unknown reason. We’re investigating the runestone that’s caused all this, but—” Draco was cut off by a rumble of thunder and had an inkling of what was to come.

Lightning.

At least, because the storm was magical, they didn’t have to worry about _actually_ being electrocuted. Just zapped by magic. Still, the liability exposure _alone_ would keep him awake at night.

Draco mentally shuddered at the thought, but continued on, appearing unaffected. “Patil will submit the overtime request to her no later than five today, and I will have a Status Report to Minister Shacklebolt in forty-eight hours.”

“First, stop calling her Patil. She’s been Patil-Zabini for over a year now.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

It also sounded like a type of pasta, but he wouldn’t _dare_ utter that aloud. Patil knew where he lived and likely had a list of hexes she would love to use on him.

Blaise faintly looked inclined to agree with him. “And second, Granger said that, should you need extra personnel to assist in any capacity, please submit the request in writing to the Interdepartmental Relations Committee liaison for the Department of Mysteries. ”

“We don’t _need_ any help.”

Of course, right then two Unspeakables walked hastily by the Void Room, trying to shield themselves from the rain with umbrella charms and carrying what looked like the delivery of new prophecies. One of them fumbled with the box and Draco’s heart almost stopped, but then he recovered and they went on their way.

He needed a drink.

Also, they probably needed help.

Not that he would _ever_ admit it.

“And how are _you_? I see you aren’t injured.”

Draco scoffed, trying to decide between scotch and firewhisky. “Like you care.”

Blaise gave an easy shrug. “I was asked to inquire after your well-being, as you are the Department Head. When a leader is hurt, it can have devastating effects.”

Draco could read between the lines about as well as anyone. To his detriment, however, he was also too quick to draw; always ready to fire his first hex before the threat could fully materialise. “If _Granger_ wants to check on me, she can do it herself. _In person_.” As soon as the words were out, he realised his mistake.

_Another one. Four._ For fuck’s sake.

“Actually,” he retracted his statement in a voice too calm. “I know she’s busy. Tell her I’m fine.”

It was too late.

Blaise was suspicious, locked in on whatever idea was passing through his brain. “Padma told me that you’ve been moody all week, even before _this_ happened.” He gestured to the nightmare-come-true happening right outside the door. When Draco started to argue—an attempt he knew was weak, at best—Blaise wouldn’t let him. “You’re refusing to ask The Great Granger for assistance in _any_ capacity and _now_ you’re backtracking. It’s almost as if you’re _avoiding her_.”

“Stop capitalising The Great Granger. I can hear you doing it.” Draco sneered. “And I didn’t reject the idea, I just don’t see why we need to drag her into this. Not only will she _not_ appreciate being our first call, you know as well as I do that if Granger hates anything, it’s when people don’t try to sort their own shite. I’d like to avoid the lecture at all costs. Besides, we’re _quite_ capable here in the Department of Mysteries.”

There was _another_ rumble of thunder followed by distant yelling that hadn’t been drowned out by the sound of the rain. An intern all but hurled a wet book that was chewing on the rest of her sleeve into the room, and they both watched it transform into a regular book as it sailed through the air and hit Blaise on the foot.

The soaked witch apologised with a flip of her hair and yelled, _“It worked!”_ at someone down the hall before running off.

_Bugger._

Draco looked to his left. Then his right. He looked down at the now neutralised book before clearing his throat and petulantly squaring his shoulders. “See, everything is just _fine_.”

Blaise’s jaw twitched in amusement. “I can ask Granger for you.”

“I _just_ said I don’t want to drag her into anything without trying to sort it ourselves.”

“You’ve never had a problem dragging her into your—”

“For fuck’s sake, why are you _still_ here?” Because it was obvious Blaise had only come here to nag him on Granger’s behalf.

“Since you’ve asked, I’m here to figure out what you’ve done to Granger. She’s been a _terror_ all week,” he said bluntly. “Usually, she’s pleasant in a ruthless sort of way after her weekends on your coc—”

“When _isn’t_ she a terror?” Draco cut him off before he got even more crass.

Blaise snorted in agreement at his admittedly fair question. “That’s true, but today she made an intern cry.” Now _that_ was unusual; he found himself intrigued, despite himself. Granger was a lot of things: meticulous, organised, and most importantly, the consummate professional that never yelled at an intern.

She generally yelled his name. Behind closed doors. Every Saturday.

It was… _casual_ and very much mutually beneficial, with rules that Granger had designed. It had been going perfectly until last Saturday when he’d gone and fucked that _all_ up. With a scowl, Draco tossed the thought in the rubbish where it belonged. “Go on with your tale of Granger bullying interns.”

“Bullying? No.” Blaise shook his head. “Oh, she had every reason to lay into them. They made a fairly large mistake of sending interdepartmental memos with sensitive information to everyone in Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. However, Granger was particularly harsh with her reprimand.”

Draco looked at him with bored eyes, mouth flat. “I fail to see how this is somehow _my_ fault.”

Like always, Blaise wasn’t exactly expressive, but he showed Draco just how much he didn’t believe him with a single look, which made him sigh. Someone else threw another soaked and snarling book into the Void room. Draco managed to step back just in time as it slid past him and came to a rest a metre away.

“Look, you’re here for answers I don’t have.”

Blaise considered Draco for a moment before nodding. “That was _all_ the answer I needed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco scowled petulantly because he hated when Blaise started talking in riddles.

“I don’t know how, but _you_ fucked something up.” He pointed at Draco. “So, we’re going to play a game.” His friend sneered, which made alarm bells sound in his head. “I’m going to guess what happened since you won’t tell me.” Blaise cleared his throat like the great prat he was and—well, he never played fair. “Erectile dysfunction.”

Draco nearly choked. “For fuck’s sake, Blaise, _no_.”

“Did you cry—”

“No!”

“Two words: Premature. Ejaculation.”

Draco almost punched him. “In case you haven’t noticed,” he said tightly, “my department is being inundated with rain from a particularly angry cloud. I don’t have _time_ for any of this.”

The rain picked up and a gust of wind made an intern stumble into the Void Room, steam from the magical rain rising off him and vanishing. He looked at himself in confusion, apologised, then ran back out in the rain. Draco gave Blaise a clear look of exasperation which made his friend raise his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave you alone. After all, what could be worse than a monsoon in your department? It’s not like you confessed your _love_ for her or something equally as stupid.”

Well, _yes_ , that was infinitely worse than any of the other options.

Draco picked up the now-useless book at Blaise’s foot, examined it, and instead of throwing it _at his face_ , he chucked it across the room. The book hit the wall and landed on the cement floor with a crash that echoed through the room.

And rather than being afraid like he should have been, Blaise’s interest grew. “ _No_.”

“I’ll hex you if you don’t leave me alone.”

“First,” Blaise held up a finger, “we’re in a room that doesn’t have magic.” Another finger joined it. “Second, _you didn’t_.”

Draco rubbed his face, groaning. But fuck it. Now that it was out, he might as well just tell _someone_ the rest of the story about his colossal mistake. “Fuck, I did, okay? Her response? Well, she looked at me like I’d said something particularly reprehensible and moronic.”

Blaise’s brow raised even more, if that was possible. “Did she say anything back?”

“Oh.”

“ _Oh?_ ”

“Yes. _Oh_.” Draco no longer wanted to discuss the topic. The mere act of admitting his mistake aloud had drained all his energy.

His friend folded his hands in an act of mock patience. “There are at least _six_ different types of _‘Oh’_ , Draco, which one did she use?”

“How the fuck am _I_ supposed to know? I don’t speak Granger! Besides, I didn’t analyse it. I just Apparated out of there. Abruptly. I went home, finished a bottle of firewhisky, and regretted every life choice I made that brought me to that point.”

“So, you panicked.”

“Malfoys don’t panic.”

Blaise levelled him with a look. “I’m looking at one who did.” When Draco scowled, his friend remained unaffected. “Ever thought that she feels the same?”

“ _No_.” Draco scoffed. “It’s just shagging. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“Obviously not for you.”

Which was not something he wanted to be reminded of. His day had _already_ gone to hell, he didn’t need the additional reminder that he’d recently fucked up something very uncomplicated. “It doesn’t matter, Blaise. It’s an arrangement. It’s marked on her infuriating colour-coded calendar along with every other moment of her existence.”

And had been since last year when Daphne paired them together for Trivia Night—then regretted it while they blazed through every topic and took the top prize by a landslide. They’d celebrated over firewhisky and an hour-long discussion about the Ministry’s too-slow attempts at modernization, which had then evolved into an intellectual debate about—well, it was a bit of a blur. They went through so many topics that he couldn’t remember which one had made her snog him. All that mattered was that he’d woken up naked in her bedroom, there’d been a repeat performance, and he’d left with an agreement to make it a regular Saturday appointment on her calendar.

_In green._

Because she was utterly predictable in all walks of life.

“Scheduled shags or not, Draco, the fact that it’s been over a year and The Great Granger hasn’t stabbed you with that Basilisk fang she keeps in her office _as decoration_ makes me believe that—despite her, in my opinion, _very_ poor judgment—she may in fact _like_ the fact that you’re the biggest tosser we _all_ have ever had the misfortune of knowing.” Blaise frowned. “I’m re-evaluating her greatness due to her questionable taste in men, but even _I_ can reconcile that not everyone is perfect. Except my wife, of course.”

Draco was so doubtful of what he was saying that he didn’t bother to respond to Blaise’s thinly veiled jabs.

But it wasn’t just the calendar or the awful _green_ she’d designated for their trysts that he _despised_. Granger had an _actual_ set of rules, and now they irritated him.

There were some that he didn’t mind: Work was to be kept at work, which was ideal because they both were professionals. They never hid what they were doing from their friends because they were fucking _adults_. Neither were enthusiasts of public displays of affection, so it never happened. Their Saturday night appointments were allowed to bleed into Sundays as long as she left on time for brunch with her parents.

But what he no longer liked was that outside of group events or trivia or the few times at work when they actually crossed paths, they barely ever communicated beyond a confirmation of their next appointment via owl.

Honestly, up until _very_ recently, the arrangement was ideal. He hadn’t been interested in more.

That was, until he realised—much to his horror—that he _was_.

But he had no intention of saying anything else to Granger because—well, whenever Draco made a mistake, he vowed that he would only make it once.

“Hmm. I think I’ll clear my schedule to watch this shite show unfold.”

“Fuck off, Blaise.”


	3. The Vote

**_3_ **

_The Vote_

Draco was nineteen when he started in the Department of Mysteries.

He’d been humbled by the war, horrified by the things he’d seen, and forced to take a long look at himself _and_ figure out his place in a society where, for the very first time, the Malfoy moniker meant nothing. In time, he’d made a name for himself, separate from his family, first in the Department of Mysteries, then in the Ministry at large. As he rose from intern to assistant to Unspeakable to Keeper to Head of Research, not once did he ever think he would be where he was today.

Head of the entire department.

Running a department as tricky as the Department of Mysteries had its own particular set of difficulties. There was always a crisis happening, a dilemma that required his attention, and people were far needier than he liked. The job often required Draco to play a role that was so far from his actual character that it was unnatural. In his current position, he had to remain calm and in control, neither of which came easily to him. He also had to play mediator more than he cared to.

Like now.

Draco listened but said nothing. He was more focused on sketching the scene around him and leaning back in his chair in the Void Room than with the Keepers and Patil, who was technically their immediate supervisor.

Something they often forgot.

“We should organise a task force to investigate the cause of the rain and how to stop it. Each room should offer up volunteers to assist with the investigation,” Patil suggested.

Astrid Phillips, Keeper of the Time Room, scoffed. “You expect us to offer up our best Unspeakables during a _crisis_?” The looks from the other Keepers showed their agreement with her statement so she felt bold enough to continue, despite Patil’s unamused expression. “We’ve got to protect the important work in our _own_ room from the deluge the Artefact Room caused.”

“Be that as it may,” Patil countered diplomatically. “It will rain forever until we figure it out, so we can either pool our resources, work together, and make the sacrifices necessary to bring some order back to our department—or _everyone’s_ research will be delayed for the foreseeable future. Your choice.”

There was no immediate response, only the sound of fabric rustling as some shifted uncomfortably in their seats, loud in the silence. The noise was smothered by a gust of whistling wind that quickly reminded them all of their predicament.

Phillips and Dumont, Keeper of the Brain Room, exchanged looks, and Draco could almost smell mutiny in the air. Ready to snuff it out, his eyes swept from person to person at the table, concentrating on each one for a few seconds, or longer, depending on his needs and how open they were with their frustration.

“We could always ask other departments to help assist in the investigation.” The most outspoken of the Heads, Alphonso White, Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy, didn’t even look up from his notes as he spoke. He had been unusually quiet thus far, probably for tactical reasons.

He had been Draco’s competition for the Department Head promotion and the fact that he hadn’t been chosen had left a bad taste in the wizard’s mouth. White was a thorn in his side when he first took over, and used to undermine him every chance he got until Draco finally stopped playing the role of a diplomat and asserted his authority.

Simple as that. 

“I certainly don’t like the idea of sparing my best Unspeakable, but think about it,” Goldstein, Head of the Hall of Records, retorted with a distasteful edge to his voice. “Do you all _really_ want _Aurors_ or someone from _Transportation_ blundering around _our_ department? They’re more likely to blow off their hand from making contact with something they have no business touching than actually be of any use.”

“I was thinking something different.” White frowned as if he found Goldstein to be the equivalent of a particularly annoying bug. Draco would have had a similar opinion on that as a teenager, but he now found Goldstein tolerable and mildly competent. “Perhaps more along the lines of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes—as we are experiencing a catastrophe the likes of which this department hasn’t seen since the destruction of the Hall of Prophecy.”

“ _That_ lot?” Goldstein scoffed. “They wouldn’t know the first thing about how to fix a magical monsoon. Now, if it were caused by an angry _toddler_ , then—”

“We should ask Hermione Granger to help,” Ernest Hobday recommended after they paused for another round of thunder, much to Draco’s immediate irritation. The Keeper of the Death Chamber was a generally quiet bloke who stayed out of Draco’s way.

Now he was on his radar.

“I agree,” Phillips and Dumont chimed in simultaneously.

Patil pursed her lips. “Malfoy doesn’t want to take that route.”

“Why not?” asked the Space Room’s Keeper, Raven Lewis, sounding rather aghast. “She helps every department when they’re in a bind. Smethwyck used to ask her for assistance a lot before he retired.”

Draco looked up from his doodles. “I’m not Smethwyck.”

White snorted, then mumbled, “ _Obviously_.”

Everyone fell silent.

Draco didn’t move, only raised his eyebrow slightly, as passive a gesture as he could possibly manage following White’s statement. “As you all know...” He paused, scanning their faces once more. “I have always been open to suggestions on how I run this department. If you have something to say, White, please feel free.” The other Keepers started looking at each other as the tension spiked.

Patil, already over it, huffed and rolled her eyes then went back to writing her notes.

White didn’t hesitate. “You should have closed the Artefact Room, but you allowed them to—”

“Would you rather I do nothing while a sentient cloud takes over the department?” Draco met the wizard’s glare with one of his own. “And who’s to say that the situation we’re in could have been avoided by simply closing the room? Can _you_ say that? Are you even _qualified_ to make that sort of decision? I’ve worked in more than one of these rooms while you’ve spent _years_ sorting through prophecies all day—and not a lot of them, based on the reports I’ve seen.”

White bristled, but said nothing in response. The others looked at each other.

“Furthermore, my refusal to solicit Senior Undersecretary Granger’s help has little to do with whether she can help or not, and more to do with the fact that we don’t have a plan.”

“She can help us with a plan,” Lewis proposed.

All except Goldstein nodded in agreement like the little lemmings they were and Draco rubbed his temple because—excluding Patil and, on a good day,Goldstein —he was surrounded by idiots. The mere thought of enlightening his subordinates concerning their blatant stupidity without yelling at them was exhausting. Every single one of them was lucky they were already Keepers before he’d become Department Head or he would have chosen to surround himself with an _entirely_ new set of people that didn’t get on his nerves.

“Since you claim to accept _suggestions_ ,” White gave him a challenging look, “I suggest a vote.”

He almost declined that—and all other suggestions that involved them doing the least amount of work as possible. However, when he thought about Granger’s reaction to them calling her in to fix it… Well, it was tempting enough for him to give them a nod. “Go ahead. I will respect your vote.”

The two with the most experience with him looked extremely suspicious. For good reason.

“Fine.” White grinned, happier than he’d looked in the last two years. Draco suppressed a smile of his own by glancing down at his drawing. He erased White’s nose and made it larger. Phillips got a pimple on her chin. Just because. “All in favour of forming a task force within our department, raise your hand.” Predictably, only Goldstein raised his hand. “All in favour of asking for assistance from the Senior Undersecretary, raise your hand.”

The rest of their hands went up.

White folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Looks like we’ve made our decision.”

“I see,” Draco replied coolly. “Now that we’ve decided on that, we have other matters to discuss.” He gestured to the room where they were sitting. “Before it turns into a cluster of junk that people—quite literally— _throw_ in here, what do you all suggest we do with this space to optimise it?”

“We could set up a warming station with blankets, places for employees to get out of the rain and eat, or have meetings out of the rain. We could put snacks in here,” Hobday suggested rather hopefully. “For morale.”

Patil didn’t like the idea. At all. “We could just send everyone home. _For morale_.”

“There are people who want to work in any capacity,” Dumont argued.

“How can they work in a goddamn _deluge_?” Goldstein retorted.

“There is _plenty_ to be done, Anthony,” Dumont argued. “The wards, particularly in my room, need constant monitoring. People need to be here in case they fail like they are in the Artefact Room.”

“You care about the brains more than you care about—”

“They’re _irreplaceable!_ ”

“And the artefacts _aren’t_? You mention the wards keep failing in the Artefact Room, but don’t bother to suggest volunteering anyone from _your_ room to help monitor them.”

“I would! I—”

“ _Enough_.” Draco was already over their squabbling. “We’ll use this room as Hobday suggested. You will all be responsible for helping set it up. Please submit the expense report so you may be reimbursed for any out-of-pocket expenses. Furthermore, we’ll allow ten people from each team to stay on, and we’ll send the rest home on paid administrative leave until the problem is sorted. The decision of who goes and who stays in your divisions will be yours. Please make your choices and provide your list to me within the hour. If they agree, we’ll offer hazard pay, but they have to assist in other rooms, should assistance be needed.”

“You’ll need Granger’s approval for any hazard pay,” Patil pointed out with a small smirk.

Draco grimaced. “I’ll draft the proposal and the potential budget. When you visit her to request her assistance, you can present it to her then.”

Patil frowned, but it was a far more inquisitive expression than he liked. “That’s typically the Department Head’s job.”

Well, these are extenuating circumstances. I’ve decided to delegate certain tasks, and considering that you’re going to your husband’s office, which is closer to hers than mine is, it’ll save me the trip.”

She was openly glaring at him now. “Malfoy, I feel like I’m missing something, and I _will_ find out.”

“Meeting dismissed.” Draco abruptly stood up, gathering his parchment and quickly pocketed his sketch.

The other Keepers left after agreeing on a time to meet regarding the setup of the room, but Patil and Goldstein lingered. Draco didn’t like the way either were looking at him. “Can I help you?”

Goldstein looked thoughtful in a way he never knew was possible. “Not speaking as your employee, Malfoy, but as the friend you don’t acknowledge me as, even though we both know I am.” Even though Goldstein was a mutual friend of Granger’s, that statement wasn’t _at all_ true. But Draco was feeling benevolent enough to not burst his bubble. “You’ve never skirted around seeing Hermione before. Why now? I thought you two were, you know—”

He left so quickly that he forgot to grab his wand from the box.

By the time he remembered it and circled back, his drawing was as ruined as his mood.


	4. Lost in Translation

**_4_ **

_Lost in Translation_

When he arrived the next morning with hot coffee, dressed for a day of torrential rain in more casual robes and dragonhide boots, Granger was already in the Artefact Room standing next to the runestone, but not too close.

He noted immediately that it was glowing brighter, more vibrantly than before the explosion.

Ominous.

Granger’s expression was pinched in a way that did little to hide her extreme irritation. He was guessing it was inspired by the fact that all the Keepers were standing a few metres away, whispering to each other as they watched her work. She looked silly in the yellow galoshes and matching raincoat. As she stepped closer to the runestone, the wind picked up ever so slightly and he saw her grip on the large umbrella in her left hand tighten.

Thunder rumbled and it sounded more like a threat than a weather phenomenon.

Lightning didn’t follow.

Granger stepped back, replacing her umbrella with her wand and handing it to Patil who, for some reason, hadn’t bothered shielding herself from the downpour. Draco didn’t bother to hide his irritation. If she got sick, he would _never_ hear the end of it from Blaise.

Also, he would be down an essential employee.

Granger stared up at the cloud-covered ceiling of the Artefact Room, and when White asked her a (likely) stupid question Draco couldn’t hear over the torrential downpour, she fired off a glare at the wizard that was so fierce he instantly fell silent, blushing.

That moment alone had made it worth bringing her in.

The other heads, minus Goldstein, who was at least familiar with Granger’s temper, exchanged nervous looks. She apparently noticed and glanced over at Patil, giving her a bored look.

Patil suggested that the Keepers leave to give Granger some space to work, but they all declined in favour of watching her like a zoo animal. Draco watched Granger’s jaw work as if she were grinding something particularly nasty in her teeth. Then she gave up, closed her eyes, and visibly relaxed.

He’d seen her like this enough to know exactly what was happening. She was retreating into her mind, likely turning page after page in her—what he’d named— _Mental_ _Book of Everything_.

Or wherever she went to review everything she had ever learned.

Draco pulled up a chair, spelled away the water, and took a seat. He was still perfectly dry as he sipped his coffee; he’d had the good sense to use a charm to block the rain. Unlike Patil.

Draco had the sneaking suspicion that this was going to take a while.

Patil left and returned, looking less like an angry cat that had fallen into the bath, and holding a coffee that told him Blaise had been by. The other Keepers never left. They remained under charms to protect them from the onslaught of rain, speculatively whispering about what the Ministry’s problem-solver was doing—even though Patil had _suggested_ that they could leave.

And if Draco kept sneaking looks of his own at Granger from his seat in the corner of the room, well, that was no one’s business but his own. _Right?_ He was the Head of the Department. He had every right to be there.

Draco feigned impatience by rubbing his forehead and looking around the room.

Things were stable. _For now_. Nothing had been destroyed during yesterday’s chaos, but as he watched rain bounce off the wards that protected the other artefacts, there was a small sense of dread that kept his mind working. Unlike the other rooms, the wards in the Artefact Room were unstable and fading away as if something were draining them. He hadn’t been able to figure out the cause, and until he did, Draco pointed his wand at the trouble spots of the ward closest to him and aimed at the gaps. 

Then his eyes drifted back to Granger, but he stopped himself from really focusing on her. Their very- _not_ -serious arrangement was over because of his mistake. No going back.

And he reminded himself of that repeatedly until… he looked again.

Why?

Because he was a fucking glutton for punishment, and Granger was just another shitty situation he’d put himself in.

He frowned at the sight of her, particularly her hair, as it was pulled back into a low bun that was rapidly losing its battle against the humidity. Soon, she would let it down and—well, Draco would rather she do that later because he always liked her hair down. He sipped his coffee, his throat having gone a bit dry at the thought.

When his eyes slid back over to his Keepers, whose chatter he could hear over the falling rain, he found Dumont looking at her more appreciatively than he liked. And for a single breath, Draco almost said something, but reminded himself— _again_ —that it was not and had never been his place.

Granger was attractive in an academic sort of way. But now, thanks to their scheduled Saturday _appointments_ that bled into Sunday, Draco knew her better. Knew that outside her no-nonsense attitude, colour-coded planner, sharp wit, and infuriating list of questions about their department’s monthly expense report, Granger was… Well, the dichotomy was _fascinating_.

She cleared her throat and all the chatter stopped. Dumont stood up a little straighter, giving her an interested smile that she didn’t return. “I’m not exactly sure what you want me to do,” she addressed his Keepers.

Which wasn’t what he’d expected her to say.

Predictably, White was the first to speak. “It’s been raining since the explosion yesterday.”

“Then you should put in a work order with the Curse-Breakers.”

Which was what he _had_ expected Granger to tell them.

Phillips scowled. “We _have_. The trainee they sent was unable to fix it, and there’s no one available because they’re all out on assignment.”

She blinked twice. “Well, have you all at least _attempted_ to neutralise the artefact yourselves?”

“That’s why we asked you. None of us has experience with artefacts.”

“And _I_ do?” Granger folded her arms across her chest and Draco leaned back in his seat with his coffee and waterproofed morning report, pretending not to watch them in favour of reading. “I’m Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. I’m not a Curse-Breaker _or_ a miracle worker. I’ve never seen a runestone that glows like that.”

“With all due respect, Miss Granger,” Hobday started politely, but was interrupted by a _look_ from the witch in ridiculous yellow galoshes.

“It’s _Senior Undersecretary_ Granger. Please use the correct title when addressing one of your superiors.”

Patil cringed, but drank her coffee and, like Draco, watched it all play out.

“Apologies, Senior Undersecretary Granger.” Dumont’s voice was as slick as oil. Draco flipped the page on the report, rolling his eyes as the man laid it on thick. “We meant no disrespect, nor did we intend to waste your time, as we know it’s valuable. We’ve heard that you’ve assisted other departments with their more complex crises and thought it would save both time and resources if we invited you here to assist.”

 _Smooth_.

“The dilemmas I assist with are usually interpersonal or interdepartmental in nature. _This._ ” Granger pointed up at the enormous grey cloud covering the ceiling of the Artefact Room, drowning everything in rain at a rate that reminded Draco that _no one_ from Magical Maintenance had been in to check the drains. “This has _nothing_ to do with my position.”

Goldstein chuckled.

“Perhaps you can assist in finding someone who can help solve this problem,” Phillips suggested, looking a bit at a loss.

She tapped her foot impatiently. “I could have suggested someone from the comfort of my own office.” 

“When they summoned you here, they were _thinking_ that if anyone could quickly sort out the problem, it would be The Brightest Witch of Our Age, The Ministry’s Deus ex Machina, and all that rot.” Draco’s voice carried from his seat. He fixed her with a look of his own after taking another drink from his coffee. “I tried to warn them that you wouldn’t take too kindly to being someone’s first option in a crisis.”

“No, you didn’t!” Everyone—save Patil, who laughed, and Goldstein, who was struggling _not_ to laugh—said simultaneously.

“ _Ah._ ” He went back to reading. “Perhaps I would have mentioned it had you all not been so quick to go over my head to get what you want.” He cut his eyes back up at Granger, whose face had transitioned into her infamous glare. “Apologies for allowing them to waste your time.”

Granger cocked a single eyebrow and in continuation of their new tradition, she said nothing to him. Not directly at least. “I will see if we can pull a Rune Reader to figure out what this particular one says, and we can call a more experienced Curse-Breaker off assignment to handle the artefact.”

Thunder rumbled again, and Draco swore he saw a spot of lightning in the cloud. It probably wasn’t his imagination because Granger took another step away from the artefact.

“Are there Unspeakables that used to work in the Artefact room?”

They all shook their heads. “Moving from one research team to another is rare.” Goldstein glanced quickly at Draco. “Only a few have done it.”

“Well,” she said to his Keepers, “I suggest you begin pooling your best Unspeakables together to form a Task Force that will investigate the cause of this phenomena and determine how to neutralise it.” Which had been Patil’s suggestion all along. The witch looked quite pleased with herself. The Keepers, on the other hand, were not so happy. “It’s a good idea. At least until I can hold up my end of the deal.” She quickly cut her eyes over to Patil. “Now if you all will excuse us. We need to have an upper management discussion. Please.”

It was finally enough to get the Keepers to leave. Granger watched them go with a polite look that turned into a frown when the door closed behind them.

“That’s just—”

“Lazy?” Patil finished with a smirk. “We’re aware.”

“Goldstein is essentially a Department of Mysteries historian, so I’ll give him a pass, but the others? _Unbelievable_.” Another rumble of thunder shook the room and Granger took a second step away from the artefact. “It doesn’t like us getting too close. Perhaps it can detect if anyone is around it that may do it harm.”

“You’re saying it’s a sentient runestone?” Draco drawled, allowing his gaze to move to Granger, only to find her eyes on him. “They are generally harmless.”

“Tell that to the Artefacts Team,” Patil chimed in unhelpfully. “Broadmoar and his teams are still unconscious.”

Fantastic.

Patil went on. “Normal runestones may be harmless, but runestones infused with dark magic are not…”

It didn’t seem that Granger was listening to Patil because she was still staring at him. Her expression was aloof, but Draco saw a spark of _something_. Interest or maybe rage. And even though he was familiar with both, he wasn’t entertaining either.

After a long moment, when all he could hear was the sound of rain falling around them and yet another roll of thunder reverberating through the room, Granger dragged her attention back to Patil, blinking several times before clearing her throat. “What were you saying again, Padma?”

The other witch’s eyes swung back and forth between them like a pendulum before they stopped on Granger. As if taking mental notes, she studied her friend’s expression before responding to her question. “I believe this is the part of the Artefact Room where they keep dormant items. It leads me to believe that something woke it up. Malfoy witnessed it absorb the magic from a spell they used on it, so one could guess that their repeated spell usage on the runestone made it stronger. Finally, something they did to neutralise it only made it angry instead—hence the magical storm.” She stuck her hand out beyond the rim of Granger’s umbrella, catching the rain. “Why have the storms increased in intensity? That I don’t know.”

Interest piqued, Granger tilted her head. “Any idea what sort of neutralising spell they tried to use?”

“None,” Draco answered.

In response, she glared at him before focusing on Patil, who looked a bit humoured by their silent exchange. When Granger realised she was the source of her friend’s amusement, she fired a glare at her that rebounded, much like Draco’s glares did with her husband. “It sounds like you all have a major problem. I’ve pre-approved all requests for overtime and hazard pay, should you decide to take that route. And you should. At least until I can pull people to help.”

A streak of lightning travelled the entire length of the room and they all watched.

Granger looked around casually, but then her focus zeroed in on one shelf. “It appears the wards you have protecting the artefacts are weakening. You need adjusting there and there.” She pointed to two particular spots that had been fine minutes before, and he filed the information away for further investigation. “I have a meeting with the Minister in an hour. I’ll see what I can do to help.”

“I’m…” Patil looked at him, then her. “I’m going to go be useful elsewhere.”

And then they were alone.

Draco went back to reading in anticipation that she would leave considering their little meeting was finished. But as well as he knew her, Granger was still a bit of an enigma. So, really, Draco shouldn’t have been surprised when she stayed.

Approached him.

Even over the sound of the rain, he heard her footsteps on the concrete. Her first few were hesitant, but as she advanced, her confidence grew and then her ridiculous yellow galoshes were right in front of him. Draco tensed before he could stop himself, then took a sip of hot coffee to keep up appearances. But it was too late. Granger had already picked up on his agitation. And how did he know?

Because he could _feel_ her gaze on him.

“I see you’re uninjured.” She sounded professional. Composed.

Draco didn’t look up. He knew better than to fall in the trap of looking at her. “I’m certain Blaise reported that to you yesterday.”

“He did, but sometimes I like to see things for myself. You know that.” She curled a wet finger under his chin and tilted his head up until their eyes met. “Even when I’m _livid_ at said person.” Granger’s eyes swept over his face, head, and neck for any sign of injury. When she found none, she released him and stepped back.

Draco made a small noise and calmly flipped the page of his report, reading on. “Is that all?”

“ _No_.” He heard the emphasis she put in her response, but overall, her voice was too apathetic. Draco _hated_ it, but he never let it show. “You owe me an explanation for disrupting my schedule on Saturday.”

Was _that_ how she described it? “I apologise.” He made sure his tone was every bit as curt as he could manage without sounding like he gave a damn. “I know how much your _schedule_ means to you.”

He heard her exhale and it sounded weary. “That’s not what I meant.” Her words were softer. 

“You said that I owe you an explanation.” Draco took a sip from his coffee. “My response? I don’t believe I do.”

“So, _this_ is the decision you’ve made? To not talk about _anything_?”

Draco lifted his head, his face as blank as he could make it with such little time to prepare. When her eyes sliced into his like dangerous shards of glass, Draco realised he wasn’t quite ready. So he responded to her question, not in the way he _should_ , but in the only way he knew how.

Like the bastard he was.

“Talk about _what_?”

And when she purposefully knocked over his coffee and stormed down the aisle towards the door, splashing water in all directions, Draco thought he was rather fortunate that she hadn’t thrown it in his face.


	5. Free Advice

**_5_ **

_Free Advice_

There was nothing more infuriating to Draco than a smug Harry Potter.

Well, that wasn’t true.

It was a smug Potter who thought he knew something… _and likely did_.

An hour after Granger ruined his morning caffeine experience, Potter’s name materialised on his calendar for a meeting at eleven. The title of his entry?

_Assistance_.

Normally, Draco would have been suspicious—it was his nature, after all—but he was already in the part of hell where it rained all day, so he had no time to be suspicious about Potter’s strangely timed meeting. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, but Draco didn’t realise it was a fucking _trap_ until he sat down in Potter’s disorganised office and the man himself actually _smiled_.

_Then_ he noticed the bottle of scotch and the two glasses on Potter’s already messy desk.

“What the fuck?”

Instead of an answer, Potter just opened the bottle and poured them both a finger. “You might need this. Hell, _I_ might need this.”

Likely true, considering the fact that Potter was more twitchy than usual.

Draco leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “You know I don’t drink cheap liquor.”

Over the rim of his spectacles, Potter levelled him with a look. Draco gave him a rather impassive glare in return, but the bane of his existence only blinked and picked up his glass, tossing it back in one gulp.

Challenge accepted, Draco grimaced but did the same, instantly remembering why he didn’t drink cheap scotch. It _burned_ like hell, but he managed to keep his reaction to a slight grimace.

“Better?” Potter smirked, looking entirely too enthused about watching him choke on the sad excuse for scotch.

Draco nudged the glass back with one finger. “I’d sooner drink petrol than another swallow of that shite.”

“Good then.”

“Why am I here?” When Potter fixed his mouth to respond, Draco hit him with a fierce glare because while they didn’t hate each other like they had as children, he knew when Potter was either bullshitting or sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Or both. “And don’t tell me that you called this meeting for anything work-related. Because you didn’t.”

Potter folded his hands on the solid, old desk. “If you know that, why did you come?”

Draco was smart enough not to answer that. “Do you think Bill Weasley could sort the situation in my department? He specialises in this sort of phenomena. I’d ask my Keepers to look into finding an available Runes Specialist, but they’re all self-interested idiots who couldn’t work together if their lives depended on it.”

“So, like you, then.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.” His thoughts were still on his departmental problems. “I may just figure it out myself.”

Potter seemed interested. “Hermione didn’t sort it?”

“She did not.” Draco avoided looking at him, allowing his eyes to peruse the parchment on the top of a stack large enough to trigger his anxiety. Holiday request. He went to look under it and Potter smacked his hand. It didn’t hurt, but Draco swore at him anyway. Which only made him smile again.

“Sensitive Auror business there.”

“I didn’t know McGregor wanting to take a week off in August was ‘sensitive Auror business,’” Draco emphasised with air quotes. “But what do I know? Actually, I _do_ know something: you are absolute _pants_ at completing paperwork in a timely manner. Oh, and your desk looks like a parchment factory exploded on it.”

Potter just shrugged like it was something he already knew and accepted. “Since we’re on the topic of knowing things, I happen to know that you’d better get used to the typhoon because you’re fucked. Bill is in Istanbul.”

“I like how you don’t think I can figure it out myself. I appreciate the vote of confidence. It really boosts my ego.”

“As if your ego needs boosting.” Potter looked deep in thought. It probably hurt. “Perhaps you could ask Hermione to assist with the research. That is, if you don’t have any other viable options. At least that’s what _I’d_ suggest. However, I’m a realist, and realistically, you’re not her favourite person right now.”

“I’ve never been her favourite person.”

Potter made a non-committal noise. He obviously wanted to say something else but settled on a topic that wouldn’t get him hexed. By Granger, most likely, because he wasn’t scared of Draco.

The feeling was _absolutely_ mutual.

And because of that, Potter fixed his glasses, took a deep breath, and spoke his peace.

“You’re going to tell me to fuck off, but I’m going to level with you anyway, Malfoy. You aren’t the _easiest_ person in the world to get on with, but neither is Hermione. She’s always trying to deduce what people want when she should just _ask_. She’s always guarded when she needs to be open. She’s got a place for everything, but you’ve never quite fit. Because you’re… _you_. Both of you can argue about everything under the sun, but at the same time, neither of you are any good at meaningful communication.”

“You’re right, Potter,” Draco said placidly. At the surprised look on the other wizard’s face, he allowed his mouth to drop into a sneer. “You _can_ fuck right off.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Look, I know I’m toeing the line of my duties as her best friend and your…” He gave an _I-don’t-know-what-I’m-trying-to-say-but-here-it-goes_ flourish of his hand. “ _Not-enemy_. I think it should be said that you two work in a strange sort of way that shouldn’t make sense, but it does. I’ll admit I didn’t get it at first, but—”

“Since you _won’t_ fuck off, get _on_ with it, Potter. Preferably without waxing poetic. There’s a runestone drowning my department in magical rain.”

Because he really didn’t want to hear about something that he’d already declared a mistake.

Over.

Finished.

“For some reason, Hermione hasn’t hit you with the canaries, and that surprises me more than anything.”

Probably only a matter of time.

“And I say that because I know what happened Saturday.”

Draco drew his line in the sand, standing up abruptly. “I’m _not_ having this conversation with you. How do you—” He knew the answer before the question was even fully formed.

_Of course he knew._

Granger had confided in him. She had a lot of friends, but only one or two close female mates, and he knew Ginny Weasley was playing Quidditch out of the country until August. He’d attended her farewell pub celebration two Fridays before. And when he’d _finally_ drawn Granger’s attention from her friends, he’d asked a hypothetical question. _What if I asked for Friday, as well?_ Granger had laughed like he’d told a funny joke.

She’d never answered, and that was all the answer he needed.

Potter fixed himself another finger of scotch and drank it, grimacing before he placed his glass on the desk. “I’d rather talk about anything else. Literally, _anything else_. What happened was perfectly normal, considering the fact that you two have been an open secret for over a year now. It only makes sense that you—”

“Are you _really_ trying the therapist route, Potter? What the fuck?”

“I’m trying to give you good advice without strangling you.” His eyes got all squinty when he said, “But I’m thinking the latter would be far more satisfying.”

Draco glared. “You can try.”

“It’s you, you know, making this difficult due to your need for self-preservation. You can’t say what you said to Hermione and think she’s going to let it go. She’s like a dog with a bone. But, at the same time, it’s her, too. She’s not had the easiest time with things like this because—well, she’s _Hermione_. She’s cautious and you’re probably the biggest risk she’s ever allowed herself to take. There’s also the part where she doesn’t know how to put down her calendar and _live_. She has a place for us all. My colour is red, and outside of group outings, parties, and trivia, I’m Monday at eleven-forty-five for lunch and Thursday at eight in the evening.”

Potter looked expectant, but Draco wasn’t offering any information.

Well, other than: “My colour is green and I hate it.”

Draco had issues with his scheduled time, but he’d already overshared.

“Have you told her?” He took the lack of answer correctly. “Ah, well, you should. How _else_ would she know?”

But there was something about Potter’s previous words that made him feel… odd. He knew perfectly well that it was him. Granger had at least made an effort at communication, but he’d shut her down before she had the chance to do the same to him. But that was who Draco was: acerbic with a penchant for the dramatics and a _hurt-them-before-they-hurt-you_ way of thinking.

He wondered if Granger saw him that way, but when he wondered why he gave a damn, he knew the answer. Blaise had already analysed his character, and needled him about it every chance he got. Now, hearing it from Potter was something akin to independent verification of something Draco already knew to be true. Of something he had always prided himself on.

So, why was that bothering him?

“I didn’t come here to have this discussion.” He tried not to sound defensive, tried to come across as apathetic, but couldn’t quite manage indifference.

Which pissed him off.

Potter shrugged and went back to scribbling on the parchment he’d been working on before Draco had arrived. “I have so many responses, but I’m trying to be less of a prat because I haven’t hated you for a while now.”

“I believe we’re done here.” Draco started for the door while trying to shake the weird feeling thrumming through him. “I have books and records I need to get if I’m going to figure out this runestone that’s causing the rain in my department.”

“Then you should probably stop by Hermione’s office. I was only surprised she hadn’t sorted your department’s torrential rain problem already because I saw her with an armful of books three days ago on deciphering rare runes and magical weather phenomena.”

“Three days ago? That would mean…” Draco trailed off, not wanting to appear surprised by the fact that Granger had been looking into his problem since it had spread from the Artefact Room. _Before_ she had been summoned by his Keepers. Before the start of the downpour.

He shouldn’t have been shocked at all. Granger inserted her nose into the affairs of _every_ single department, but she never tried to sort through their problems before they asked. And Draco knew for a fact that Padma hadn’t asked her until late the previous evening.

Which meant—

“You’re a massive wanker, but she gives a damn about you. Do us all a favour and _let her_.”


	6. Higher Ground

**_6_ **

_Higher Ground_

Granger’s assistant was on maternity leave as of the beginning of the week, so there was someone new sitting at her desk.

The unfamiliar witch was petite with cropped blonde hair and large blue eyes. She wore black robes that bordered on too short and screamed _look at me, take me seriously, I want to be important._

Draco was not impressed. Not only because of the way she’d turned up her nose at him—she _obviously_ didn’t know who he was—or the suffocating scent of her desperation, but also because she was a Granger-sycophant. He knew as much, both by instinct and by familiarity with the breed. While she didn’t dress like her temporary boss, the witch tried to mimic her boss’ ability to be professionally intolerable for no reason other than that she wanted to prove she had what it took to _be_ a future Granger.

She’d already dismissed him once with a pointed glare that was nowhere near as potent as the person she was emulating.

Then, she tried to do it again.

“Do you have an appointment?”

He had never needed one before. “ _No_.”

She went back to doing… whatever the hell she was doing. It looked like filing, if the coloured stickers were indicative of anything. But she was doing it wrong. Draco knew that each colour represented a department, with white pertaining to the Minister, and she was mixing up the order of the documents. The Department of Mysteries’ colour was green.

He frowned.

When her fill-in assistant noticed that Draco was _still_ standing there, she tilted her head to the side inquisitively. “Are you here to make an appointment?”

“I’m here to speak to the Senior Undersecretary.” He spoke politely, but made certain she understood just how unamused he was. “Please inform her that Draco Malfoy, Head of the Department of Mysteries, is here.”

“I’m sorry, Draco Malfoy, Head of the Department of Mysteries. You simply _must_ make an appointment.”

Draco folded his arms, making sure he didn’t show any hint of the frustration that was building inside of him. “Okay,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a particularly errant child. “I’d like to make an appointment.”

She glanced at the explosion of colour that was Granger’s schedule and tsked, flipping through month after month. “Unfortunately, Miss Granger has no availability for the next six weeks. How about the nineteenth of July at ten-thirty?”

He stared at the witch who blinked back at him in return.

“I have the afternoon available on that day as well, if you’d prefer.”

Draco had a talent. He could turn his charm on and off like a switch whenever the situation called for it. He knew he wasn’t the kindest person, nor had he ever _tried_ to be nice for the sake of propriety. And while Granger’s alternate assistant was a hurdle to overcome, he didn’t feel like diplomacy would get him what he wanted.

So, he shut off the switch.

“Actually, right now sounds perfect.” He side-stepped her desk and continued on his way, the route so familiar that he could walk it in his sleep. This time, however, her stand-in assistant was in hot pursuit.

“Mr Malfoy, I—”

Draco turned around abruptly, examining her from head to toe with a scowl on his face. “That attitude you’re trying out only works well for Granger because _she_ has the qualifications to back it up. _You_ , however, _do not_. Please do us both a favour.” He waved her off with a lazy shake of his hand. “Run back to your little desk and practice your intimidation tactics on someone who gives a damn.” He held up a finger as a secondary thought passed. “ _Oh_ , and your filing is incorrect. If I were you, I would fix that. Senior Undersecretary Granger would not approve.”

Then he continued down the hall.

She didn’t follow.

When Draco arrived at Granger’s ever-tidy office, he found the door open and the witch in question behind her orderly desk, her quill moving furiously as she wrote. There was a stack of roughly ten books on one end that had bits of parchment sticking out of them, but he didn’t pay much attention to them in favour of watching her.

Draco always found himself staring at Granger during the strangest of moments, and he never understood why until he’d made his enormous mistake.

When she laughed, he would look to see if he found it funny as well. Most times he did, because they shared a similar, slightly-warped sense of humour. Draco would wake up on purpose in the early Sunday morning hours just to watch Granger read, secretly watching the way she would bite her lower lip to stop herself from smiling or making too much noise. She didn’t want to disturb him. And after she had two pints during their monthly pub gatherings with their overlapping friend group, Draco would watch from wherever he was as she went from conversation to conversation, smiling as she visibly unwound.

He watched her while she was deep in thought, while she yelled at someone other than him, and watched when her face lit up during trivia because she knew the answer—and she almost _always_ knew the answer.

Before he ran even further down the rabbit hole holding that particular tangent, Draco reminded himself why he needed to break the habit. He’d ended their arrangement, after all. There was no longer a reason to watch. But before he looked away, that bothered feeling returned and it rubbed him the wrong way.

He shook his head in an attempt to brush it off and raised his fist to knock on the doorframe.

“As I remember it,” Granger said, without looking up from her work, “you were second behind me at school in most subjects. _Surely_ you’re not here to convince me to fix your magic-absorbing runestone issues.”

“I’m actually here for the books you have on the topic, as I intend to figure it out myself.”

“That’s unfortunate.” She dipped her quill in ink and continued working. “I’m not finished with them.”

“You told my Keepers that their request was outside the realm of your job title. Why bother keeping the books?”

She stopped writing and sighed, setting her quill down and massaging her wrists a bit. “Your lack of faith in humanity is normal for someone like you, but it’s very annoying to someone like me. Your Keepers, outside of Goldstein, are indolent and selfish.”

He didn’t disagree with her.

“I meant what I said this morning, they do need to at least build a team and _try_. However, when I reflected on it, I realised that my way of thinking could mean disaster for your department, so I decided to call in every favour I had to pull a Rune Specialist and a Curse-Breaker from field work.”

“Were you successful?”

“Not yet, but in the meantime, Bill gave me some ideas, and I’d like to be able to try them out in private.” Granger paused then softly added, “Did you think I was finished?” She chuckled to herself. “I thought you knew me better.”

Draco said nothing in favour of stepping inside her office and shutting the door behind him. He would have remained there had Granger not gestured for him to sit in the only other chair in the room. The one across from her.

So he did.

Granger picked up her quill and started writing, her eyes efficiently perusing each parchment in front of her. She said nothing for several long minutes while Draco looked around, noticing that she had a new filing cabinet that was probably taller than him. Then he looked back at her and slipped into the habit of watching her.

The one he hadn’t quite broken.

Granger usually kept her curls pulled back and tidy, but her visit to the Department of Mysteries that morning had frizzed her hair in wild disarray. It made her look rather fierce.

“It’s a two-person job,” she said evenly. “In all likelihood, I’ll bring my assistant.”

“Don’t,” he said before he could stop himself. “She’s not even competent enough to get your filing system correct, I hardly think she can be of any assistance to you with this. If anything, she’d be a hindrance.”

She stopped writing again, lifting her eyes to meet his for the first time. “How do _you_ know my filing system?”

“I’m observant,” Draco said with a flippant wave of his hand. “What about Patil?”

“She specialises in Time and Space. Is there anyone who used to work in the Artefact Room?”

“As my Keepers stated earlier, it’s rare for Unspeakables to move from team to team.”

Rare, but not unheard of.

Patil had worked in two rooms.

And Draco, because he was ambitious and easily bored, had worked in three.

His versatility had been one of the reasons he’d been promoted.

Granger’s curious look turned hard and icy, and Draco had to think back to what position he’d held and when he’d reconciled with Potter. Eight years before? Nine? Well, nine years ago he had just left the Death Chamber after being promoted from intern to Unspeakable to take a position in the…

Artefact Room.

_Fuck_.

Oh well, it was too late to turn back.

Perhaps Granger didn’t remember. At the time, they were nothing more than a blip on each other’s radars when Potter had suggested they bring their two friend circles together for monthly pub gatherings (which was how Blaise and Patil ended up _married_ , for fuck’s sake). In fact, Granger was a no-show more often than not, as she was busy organising and colour-coding her calendar and working her way up the ranks in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was something Weasley—and her short string of partners after him—complained loudly about whenever she wasn’t around. And sometimes when she was.

He really should have known better.

“I have a meeting in sixteen minutes with the Minister and the Head of DMLE. Feel free to schedule time for me to work in private. Preferably during business hours.”

Draco frowned. “Your schedule is full for the next six weeks.”

“Pity, and I’m unsure if I’ll be able to bring anyone out of the field until then.” Granger sighed and organised all the parchment into a folder before closing it. “I suppose I’ll have to wait until I have a”—she looked right at him—“second person available to help.”

She most _definitely_ knew he was lying.

And since she was going to be particularly insufferable, he’d have to rethink his angle. Granger was stubborn enough to wait him out, so he went for a backup plan. “Dumont has an interest in Artefacts. I’m sure he’d be willing.”

Granger gave him a withering look and went back to her parchment. “I’d prefer to not be ogled while I work, thank you.” She gestured to the clock on her wall. “You have fourteen minutes to revise both your argument _and_ approach before I’ll be forced to send you back to my assistant to arrange a time and date—within work hours, of course—for me to work alone.”

Draco did both in a matter of seconds. “We can seek help from another Ministry’s Artefact Team.”

Granger sat back in her chair and folded her arms, looking genuinely impressed. “You must be desperate.” 

“My department is _flooding_ thanks to a runestone that absorbs magic and has a penchant for dramatics in an attempt to protect itself, so forgive me if I’m willing to do what I can to assist.”

“Except tell the truth,” she fired back. “Or work directly with me.”

And Draco found himself wondering just how he’d gone from having five moves left to staring at a checkmate. She was still looking at him with sharp eyes and the barest of smirks that told him she was ready to accept any challenge he could come back with.

He didn’t want to concede, but it was his only option. Draco laid his king down. “I’ll work with you.” He tried to smooth over his defeat with a simple shrug. “I was planning on stopping the rain myself anyway.”

“That’s surprisingly cavalier of you. Especially since you have no experience working with artefacts.” He bristled and Granger’s eyes slid from his to her fingernails. “That’s what I thought.”

For a brief moment while she pretended to ignore him, Draco forgot his mistake and the fact that he’d abruptly shut everything down between them without discussion. Instead, he found himself reminded of all the reasons he’d agreed to Saturday nights… and all the reasons why he wouldn’t get any more.

“You’re not going to give me a millimetre, are you?” Draco rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hadn’t planned on it since you’re inclined to lie to my face and forget the fact that I know you well enough to see through your bullshit.” Granger gave him a pointed look. “ _All of it._ ” Before Draco had time to react, anxious because she was encroaching on the reason why he still felt so bothered, she gestured to the stack of books with the bits of parchment sticking out. “Take those books with you. I’ve done a bit of light reading.”

Draco couldn’t help his chuckle.

Granger tried to suppress hers, but failed. “I’ve had a few days to sort through it,” she confessed with a small smile. “Padma told me about the artefact with the glowing rune and the cloud. I got curious. I didn’t know it was going to get angry and start raining on everything.”

“I think we both can agree that it’s _more_ than a bit of rain.”

She tucked a particularly wild hair behind her ear and nodded. “I… I’ve never seen anything like it. I…” Granger trailed off as she sorted through her folders and pulled out a green one. Department of Mysteries. “I’ve pieced some things together, but not everything. We have a few minutes before my meeting to discuss it, if you’d like.”

Draco nodded.

“The stone must have been designed to protect the person carrying it by absorbing any harmful hexes or charms that’s used on or near that person.”

Reflexively, his eyes widened. He remembered Broadmoar’s excitement, but he’d been too distracted by the fucking cloud taking over his department and hadn’t recognised the full extent of research possibilities a small, seemingly insignificant runestone indicated.

What about replication? What were the implications for control of the elements? What new runic language was used? What if—

Granger looked uncertain. “Don’t get excited, Malfoy. We won’t know anything until the Rune Specialists take a look, _if_ we can somehow tame it until they arrive, but I have extreme doubts about that due to the fact that raw magic was involved.” Granger put a top on her inkwell. “I’m sure I don’t need to explain how raw magic works, do I?”

Draco knew _exactly_ how raw magic worked. It was highly chaotic and violent, making whatever it contacted act completely out of character. When describing it to interns, he told them that raw magic making contact with any magical item was like opening tuna in a room full of starving kneazles—everything within range knew it was time to eat and someone was bound to lose an eye. And that was why it was imperative that every bit of unmanipulated magic be cleaned and sealed away after the massive magic spill.

“I’m not the youngest Head of the Department of Mysteries in _two_ centuries for my good looks and boyish charm alone.”

The look she gave him matched the one she made whenever Weasley ate too fast. “ _Clearly_.” Then she moved on. “It’s also possible that raw magic from the spill made contact with, and was _absorbed_ by the stone, which woke it from its dormant state. Now it’s supercharged, getting stronger and stronger, and determined to protect itself.”

“Hence the cloud.”

“Yes. The cloud would have likely stayed the same size had it not been for the Artefact Team’s first attempts at neutralising it.” Granger paused. “It absorbed every offensive spell they used, from the mundane to the complex, slowly gathering power.”

Draco pondered for a moment. “If your theory is correct, this is why it started raining. The cloud was created by the runestone to protect itself, and when the cloud alone wasn’t enough, it branched out.” She nodded in agreement. “But… once it spread throughout the department, _I_ gave permission for the Artefact Team to continue their efforts to identify the runestone and test its capabilities. _That was_ obviously my mistake.”

Which aggravated him.

“Not necessarily.” Granger bit her lip like she always did when she was thinking hard about something. “I would have done the same, given the lack of knowledge.”

“But ultimately, that error is what started the storm.” Draco was a goddamn professional, so he wouldn’t sulk, but he _would_ shoulder the blame himself for the havoc happening in his department.

Granger disagreed with a firm shake of her head. “The spell that triggered the downpour must have been powerful, likely an Unforgivable, and the storm is the cloud going overboard in its efforts at self-preservation. How _Slytherin_ of it.” After flashing him a tiny smirk, her eyes scanned the page in front of her. “I know that your department, in certain cases, will use Unforgivables purely for experimental purposes. However, if I were you, I wouldn’t question myself, but rather the judgment of the Keeper who thought it wise to use an Unforgivable on a runestone that _absorbs magic_.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Begrudgingly, Draco had to admit she actually had a point. “And you managed to figure this out with a bit of light reading?” Draco waved his hand in the direction of the books on her desk.

“That, deductive reasoning, and observation. While direct magic is equivalent to something gorging on a meal, I think it’s slowly absorbing the magic in the Artefact Room: The wards, which is why they’re weakening when they shouldn’t; drying charms; umbrella spells. Everything.”

“The wards are protecting everything else from being destroyed. What are you suggesting?”

“No unnecessary magic in the room. It’s about as large as the Death Chamber, so this may be a lot to ask, as it takes a lot of magic to keep the wards intact. But when you go in, either wear a raincoat or carry an actual umbrella. A poncho would be most useful. Keep repairing the wards, but meanwhile, begin the process of moving all magical artefacts out of there. It may take time, but I suggest you all find a new place to store them until the runestone has been neutralised. Anything that’s dormant or mundane can stay.”

The process would take _weeks_ , even with everyone in the office working on nothing else.

But he nodded. “Have you reached out to a Rune Specialist?”

“I’ve written to a few, but haven’t received any responses. I hope to hear something later on this afternoon or tomorrow morning.”

Draco wasn’t too quick to dismiss her hypothesis, as it made a lot of sense, but he had holes to pick in her theory. “I personally assisted with the clean-up and the sweep of my department after the initial spill. I’ve since had the Magical Sanitation team make _two_ additional sweeps for any bits of raw magic that might have escaped our notice.”

“Humans are flawed.” She gave a tiny shrug like that was all the answer she needed. “Also, I’m fairly certain that the runestone absorbed any trace of raw magic long before you all thoroughly cleaned the department after the spill.”

He thought about it and frowned. “ _How_ did you know about the spill to begin with?”

She gave him another bored look and a sigh. “It was mentioned at the Minister’s briefing the following day. I authorised the overtime you requested.” He could almost see Granger’s mind catch on to a bit of information. She looked at him curiously. “I didn’t see your name on the overtime list for the clean-up.”

“I helped off the clock.” He felt strongly that it was his responsibility as the Department Head to keep the budget in check. There was only so much overtime approved, and he didn’t need the money anyway—never had. Draco worked because he loved what he did, so when it came to it, Draco always sliced his own salary by more than half so there were more funds to spread throughout his department. Promotions to more worthy Unspeakables. Research funding. Upgrades. Everything.

Granger bit back a small smile but still looked at him as if she wanted to slap him. _Again_. In the end, she settled for something slightly less abrasive. “You _do_ know that you are in violation of the Ministry’s Pay Policy.”

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me right now?”

“No. I’m not.” Granger glanced at her watch. “We’ll revisit this later. I’ve got to go.” She gathered the parchment on her desk and prepared to leave. “Take these books to study. I’ve marked everything that pertains to your department’s situation. I’ll bring the ones I have on runes when we schedule time.”

Granger stood with her stack of nearly organised parchment in hand. He stood as well, taking out his wand and shrinking down the books to a more manageable size. Draco heard her start to move and, with sudden awareness, he watched her as she made her way around her office. Black pencil skirt. White blouse. Stockings. Sensible heels. Not at all what she had been wearing that morning, but it made sense that she would change. Draco was so consumed by the thought that he didn’t notice her come to a stop behind him.

The look on her face was oddly cagey for someone as bold as Granger. “I have a meeting.”

“You said that already.”

Granger awkwardly patted down her hair. “Tomorrow morning at five-thirty, I have time. Are you available?”

“Normally I’m asleep, but I can make myself available if it’ll help stop the torrential rain.”

With a wave of her hand, a bit of green appeared on the scheduler on her desk. Draco tried not to scowl. “We’ll meet in the Void Room to strategize before we go in.”

“Fine,” he replied tightly, still irrationally bothered by seeing the green denoting _him_ on her calendar.

Granger gave him a lingering look and started to turn towards the door to leave when she remembered something. “ _Oh_ , and be sure to bring coffee. You know what I like.”

“I do.” Draco said it more to himself.

She heard him anyway, and her reaction wasn’t one he’d expected. Draco watched as her cheeks flushed a bit and her brown eyes flickered to his mouth. For a moment, Granger looked as if she wanted to say something else, even going so far as opening her mouth before hesitating. Then she seemed to think better of it.

“I’ll see you in the morning… Draco.”

Granger said his first name in a way that felt like she was trying it on for size.

He wondered if it fit just right. 

She left before he could do more than gape at her.

Thoroughly confused, Draco filed the interaction away for further analysis, but for the first time, he found himself wondering if his second mistake had actually been one at all.

_Hmm… Interesting._


	7. Ships In The Night

**7**

_Ships in the Night_

Draco considered himself to be a timely person.

He was up at four and by five, he was walking through the entrance chamber of his department, ready to get soaked in the downpour as he used his jacket to protect their cups. The rain was heavier, harder, and colder than he remembered from the previous day. The winds were stronger and the thunder was more insistent. Threatening.

Just great.

He’d done as Granger advised and stopped all non-essential magic in the Artefact Room.

_How_ had it gotten worse?

The walk to the Void Room was harder and longer than usual in the midst of a deluge, but he made it and tucked his wand in one of the cubby holes next to the door of the Void Room. He briefly noted a second wand, but was too eager to get out of the rain to connect the dots. Draco figured he had at least fifteen minutes before Granger’s arrival, but he forgot who he was dealing with. The witch in question was already sitting at a table in the Void Room. with her books and research splayed across the top.

Ah, that had been _her_ wand.

Granger wore a grey jumper and jeans with boots. Her hair had already lost the battle with the frizz, so it was pulled back into a low ponytail. She was thinking, hand on her chin as her eyes repeatedly darted back and forth from her parchment to a book, frowning when she didn’t find what she was looking for.

Water now gone from his clothes, Draco found himself annoyed when the urge to watch her returned. He’d forgotten about the thought he’d filed away after leaving her office, and had worked through the rest of his day with a clear head that was completely devoid of Granger. However, as day passed into night—like every night since he’d realised—Draco laid awake, trying to suppress the feeling he’d come to associate with her. Tried to suffocate them. 

And, like always, he failed.

Which _bothered_ him.

“If you’re going to watch me, Malfoy,” she said without lifting her head, “at least be useful and bring my coffee.”

Then he did and—well, Granger didn’t look _that_ angry. Which was new.

Or maybe it was too early. 

Draco joined her at the table, taking the seat next to hers as the others were occupied with bags full of books. When he noted the absence of her beaded bag, he realised it wouldn’t work in the Void Room. He handed her a paper cup with the letter G on the side and settled down with his. It was still hot, but not too hot that he couldn’t enjoy it.

“I’m beginning to think you’ve set a ward to detect my presence,” he said carefully, keeping the mood light while simultaneously trying to snuff out the bothered feeling that he’d unintentionally brought with him. He was there to work. And to emphasise his silent point, he opened one of the rune books she’d brought along and flipped it open to a piece of parchment where she’d marked a rune that was similar to the one on the stone, though it was obviously not the same. 

Granger fixed him with another one of her infamous glares. “In a room. With no magic? The fact that you think I’d invest that much energy into you is a rather arrogant assumption. I should be surprised, but I’m not.”

“Your wit is especially dry this morning.”

“Because I haven’t had my coffee.” She picked up her cup and removed the lid, bringing it to her nose and taking a deep inhale, smiling to herself. Granger drank coffee like most people needed to drink water and he never once thought her habit odd until Potter mentioned how she didn’t care for the taste, only the smell.

Oh, and the caffeine that seemed to propel her through even the longest of days.

“You’re watching me again.”

He was, but rather than admit to it—or anything private he’d kept to himself—Draco scoffed. “I’m just wondering if it’ll be cold by the time you _actually_ drink it.”

Granger rolled her eyes and took a generous sip, then frowned. “No sugar?” Draco didn’t respond, only reached into the pocket of his jacket and produced a little waterproof bag that contained her blueberry scone. She accepted it, looking a little soft around the edges. “Oh. Thank you.”

And she left it at that. They both knew that she had a sweet tooth, and that when she indulged, she didn’t like her coffee to be sweet as well.

Granger ate her scone slowly, taking her time, turning her head whenever a particularly hard gust of wind blew or a flash of lightning cut across the ceiling outside the room. He didn’t rush her, but didn’t look at her either. Draco sipped his own coffee—black with one sugar—while skimming the book for weather-related runes.

The first time he allowed himself to look up, Draco did a double take when he saw the map of his _entire_ department on the table. It showed each room—even the ones sealed away, ones where the magic had gone dark, others where some of the more archaic research was carried out, and still more that were lost to time and space. It was restricted information Draco hadn’t even gotten _his_ hands on until he’d become Head of the Department.

“How did you get this?” He felt ridiculous for asking, but compulsion had already forced the question out.

Granger just looked at him. “I have my ways.” At his dubious expression, she waved her hand in a quick flourish. “I asked a Ministry Historian _very_ nicely.”

“You stole it.”

She gave him a smug look. “Basically.”

Draco rested his elbow on the table and smirked at her, noting the fact that her face shifted from sly to something he couldn’t decipher. As far as their casual affair was concerned, he’d found himself fascinated by the puzzling contradiction that was Hermione Granger. It drew him in and kept him interested as he worked to put her together in a way that made sense. When he started to notice her contradictions in her everyday life, too… Well, Draco had watched her even _closer_ , worked harder to figure her out, but with a fascination that increased each week. Each interaction.

Granger was someone that knew _every_ decree and regulation, knew exactly which rules mattered and how to use the very ones she broke to her advantage. Not only that, but she had a reputation of being approachable and pleasant, if a bit reserved; the most valuable person in the Minister’s inner circle…

But Merlin help _anyone_ who mistook her kindness for weakness.

And Draco found himself wondering if those contrasts had been what had drawn him to her all along, those little pieces of her that didn’t fit with the overall picture of who he thought she was. They seemed to line up well with certain bits of himself that didn’t quite work with his image.

Draco tucked away the thought that he hadn’t wanted to think _in the first place_ and pressed on after allowing another roll of thunder to pass while he drank more of his coffee. “Why do you need to know the layout of the department?”

“It’s part of my contingency plan for if my hypothesis is correct. And I believe it is.” She spoke as though she’d already laid out her plan, and when he gave her a look that invited her to elaborate, she only arched an eyebrow. “Did you read the books?”

“Obviously not _all_ of them.” He snorted. “I’m not _you_.”

At that, Granger rolled her eyes and chuckled, then looked over her shoulder at the monsoon happening outside the room. Her smile fell.

“I _did_ read all of your notes.” He could tell she was used to working with people who didn’t think for themselves and just waited for her to take control because she looked pleased simply because he’d made an effort. Oddly, it was a look that, until fairly recently, he’d seen often.

“Were they thorough?”

“Of course they were.” He rolled his eyes. “However, before that, I took your advice and started moving the more precious artefacts to an unused room. _There_.” Draco pointed to it on the map. Granger hummed with interest. “I gave instructions for no unnecessary magic around the runestone, except ward reinforcement. We cut our workforce to the bare minimum needed to keep the wards in the Artefact Room from getting ruined. And I believe your hypothesis about the rune feeding on all magic. There were wards I set myself that were weaker before I left for the day.”

“You’ve been busy, but that doesn’t surprise me. I do have one question about the magic spill. Where did it happen?”

“In a room where we store unmanipulated magic. Not to be confused with the magic from the Love Chamber.”

Granger looked at the blueprint, pointing at the room next to the Space Chamber. “You mean there?”

“Yes,” he answered reluctantly. “But it’s not visible to anyone without access.”

“Fascinating.” She took a bite of scone and chewed.

Outside the room, the wind started howling and the rain pounded harder.

Granger waited to speak until it momentarily died down. “We’re going to have to neutralise the runestone. Will that be an issue? I know there are certain research implications, but something that powerful is virtually impossible to contain for as long as it’ll take. Now that it’s awake and destructive, our objective is clear.”

“How do you neutralise something that absorbs magic?” Draco drummed his fingers on his paper cup. “We could try to figure out how it went dormant in the first place.”

“We could, but that might take a while—months or _years_ , even with experts. And there are no guarantees.”

“We have to destroy it.” Draco sighed reluctantly, not entirely on board with the idea, but more than _done_ with the typhoon in his department. “Since this is your idea, Granger, what’s the plan?”

Granger turned to him. “We’re sitting in a room that’ll do the job just fine.”

“I think I know what the purpose of the rooms are in my own department.”

“Hear me out, Malfoy. After I got my last set of books in here, I walked to the entrance then turned around. I wanted to see where the rain went when I came into the room. It turned to steam and vanished.” Draco nodded, knowing that already. “Then, I wondered if I stepped back out with my umbrella, would I instantly be wet again? I tried it out and I wasn’t. I remained dry. It made me wonder if you… I don’t suppose you all have duplicated the magic-eliminating abilities of this room in an object… Say, a box?”

“Doubtful, as this room has mainly been used as a glorified cupboard.”

“Pity.” Granger sighed. “Then it’s on to Plan B. We’ll have to get the runestone back here.”

“Unless you have something that’ll contain magic, I doubt—”

“Well, I have a jar with an Unbreakable Charm on it that I kept Rita Skeeter in for several days. Maybe it’ll hold the runestone just long enough for us to get it to this room. I can’t guarantee that the rune won’t continue to wreak havoc on everything while in the jar…”

That sounded promising, though Granger didn’t sound particularly confident, but Draco was stuck on what she’d said at first. “I’m sorry, you did _what_?”

In lieu of an answer, she shrugged. “It’s a long story. The jar is in my office.”

Granger’s plan was the most Gryffindor-ish tripe he’d ever heard in his life, and he wondered how in the hell her plans kept Potter alive long enough to win the war. Must have been dumb luck. Or maybe her plans were crazy enough to succeed. Either way, he was highly sceptical. “Is this going to work?”

“There’s about a forty-six percent chance of failure.”

“I don’t like those odds.”

She tilted her head. “They aren’t _that_ bad.”

A flash of lightning tore past the room in a streak that momentarily blinded him, immediately followed by a boom of thunder. Even with the lightning, he could barely see into the hall past the wall of rain, and he made the decision to Owl everyone, except the Heads, to stay home for the day as the conditions were worsening.

Granger went back to her research and Draco looked through the book of runes. They worked in silence for about ten minutes, with the indoor thunderstorm serving as background noise, before Draco blindly reached for another book, grabbing it by the spine—only for her hand to rest on top of his.

Tentative. As if she were trying it out for the first time. Testing out another thing concerning him.

And not so patiently, Draco waited for her to realise herself and let him go.

But she didn’t.

He uttered one word— _Granger_ —in a low voice that was bitingly composed. “My hand.”

And when he looked at her, he found her staring back, face tight with her refusal to let him go. “ _No_.”

Draco’s grip on the book tightened as her eyes increasingly narrowed at him. His chest was tight, ribcage taut with frustration, and that _bothered the feeling_ that had been growing for the last day.

“I don’t want to talk about anything except the downpour that’s occurring in my department and how to fix it.”

“And I’m telling _you_ ,” Granger retorted in a tone just as clipped. “That we need to.”

He could feel a storm brewing in the room that rivalled the one just through the doorway.

“I’m perfectly fine.” And while it wasn’t particularly true, it was better than admitting the alternative.

“Great for you, Malfoy. _Really_.” She took a hard breath as if she were forcing the words out. “But _I’m_ not.”

“Blaise told me.” Draco tsked, finally extracting his hand from underneath hers, but having to sacrifice the book in the process. His fist clenched. “Making interns cry is so unlike you, Granger.”

“Well,” she said, voice bitter with both anger and resignation. “Telling someone you love them then vanishing is _so like you_.” The way she was looking at him right then made him pause. Her eyes were furious enough to brim with tears, but also ready to cut through him with everything she had.

It was a complicated look. Just like her.

Draco said nothing in response to the visceral display of her emotions, but inside, he felt his own stirring. And that was _not_ good for his plan to maintain his composure. There were two reasons for his silence in the aftermath of the shot she’d taken, a shot that had hit home.

One was the thunder and gust of wind that briefly changed the direction of the rain.

And two, well, it was simple. In the deep, simmering pit of his chest, Draco couldn’t grasp anything to say in response. Not a single word.

“What I don’t understand,” Granger said, voice softer, but still harsh, “is why you said it in the first place. If you wanted to remove yourself from my calendar, all you—”

The words sprang, fully-formed in his mind, and he did everything possible to swallow them.

_Fuck_.

Draco closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, clenching his jaw. “Why are you so determined to force me to talk about this?”

“Why are you so determined to avoid discussing it?” she volleyed back.

And he was ready for it. “Why does it _matter_ what I said?”

“Because it does!” she shouted at him, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, I’m not fighting about this. I—” Her voice hardened to that tone he hated. “Forget what I said. Forget _everything_. I am going to stay here and complete this task like the _professional_ I am.”

In an attempt to contain the impending vehemence of his reaction, he shut the book on rare runes and pushed his chair back, standing abruptly. Draco picked up his half-full coffee and threw it in the rubbish nearby. He could feel her eyes on him and hated it.

“M—”

He spun abruptly to face her, and Granger recoiled at his sudden ferocity. “ _You_ don’t get to be angry at me,” Draco said harshly. “You started this, Granger.” He was no longer certain about whether he was talking about the conversation or their scheduled arrangement. Or both. Everything.

She deflated right before his eyes. All the self-righteous indignation fizzled and died, leaving a witch who just looked resentful. “Yes, I did start all this… and now I’m sorry I bothered with you at all.”

Outside, he could feel the thunder like a physical echo of her words.

He was ready for the blow, but it _still_ took him by surprise.

For a moment back in her office, Draco had wondered if telling her _hadn’t_ been a mistake after all, he’d gotten his hopes up—marginally—for _what_? Her words were everything he’d expected, said exactly the way he’d heard it over and over again in his own head since he’d uttered those fateful words to her on Saturday.

Maybe this was what he needed.

Maybe she needed to actually reject him instead of saying _oh_ so he could justify his actions and his refusal to speak on the subject. He could make himself right.

But all he felt was wrong.

Still seated, Granger struggled, her cheeks flushing as she looked down at her palms. “I—I didn’t mean it like that.”

“That’s what you said.”

“I…” She trailed off, looking a little lost for words.

Draco chuckled darkly, really trying to bite back his still-inevitable words—not what was coming out of his mouth, but what he _really_ wanted to tell her. “I doubt you say things you don’t mean.”

“I’m not perfect, Malfoy, regardless of the things people say about me. I still make mistakes.”

“Like this?”

_Like me_?

She said nothing at first, then rested her elbows on the table, dropping her head in her hands. “I’m _tired_. I don’t want to have to keep having to _fight_ like this in every aspect of my life. It’s exhausting.” She heaved a sigh and rubbed her face before looking at him. Her eyes were rimmed with red. “I don’t want to waste my breath on someone that can’t have a _direct_ conversation about his feelings. I’ve done that _once_ , more than once, and I’ll confess, I’m scarred. But then… here I am _again_. Back in the same situation with a different person. I can’t help but think it’s me. Maybe I’ve been the problem all along, but this time I’m actually _trying_.” Her face hardened as she sat up straight. Determined. “I _refuse_ to do this again. I don’t like games, Malfoy, and I won’t play yours.”

“I’m _not_ the one that plays games, Granger.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And what does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” he spat back, forcing himself to keep his hands at his side. “You’re upset that I won’t talk, but it’s not like you want to hear what I’ve got to say. After all, you’re sorry you bothered with me at all.” When her mouth opened in argument, he held up a single finger. “ _Your_ words, not mine.”

“Stop trying to turn this on me, Malfoy! You don’t get to do that.”

“Well, _you_ don’t get to come in here and force me to talk about my feelings.”

“ _Oh?_ ” She chuckled bitterly. “You have them? _Interesting_.” And Granger knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment it was out, but there it was. There was no taking it back. Draco took a step back as she swore under her breath and gripped her thighs hard. “I can’t stop myself from saying the wrong things to you. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Draco wasn’t _really_ listening anymore, just catching the overall theme of her statement and ignoring the nuances of the things left unsaid. “Are your words wrong then? Or are you _actually_ being honest?”

“If I were being honest, I’d call you a bastard with commitment issues, but you’d take that like the compliment it’s not.”

And honesty spilled from him before he knew what he was saying. “Oh, _I_ have commitment issues? Granger, you pencil me in for one night a week in a colour I don’t even _like_. You set the rules for our arrangement—”

“That you agreed to!”

“And _that_ was a mistake,” he snarled, no longer able to hold himself still. Without consciously deciding, Draco moved to the opposite side of the table from Granger, who was now standing. They stared at each other for just a breath before he unloaded. Whether he was wrong or right, he no longer gave a damn. “I’ve told you _repeatedly_ that I don’t want to talk about it anymore than I already have, but here you are, using a goddamn magical _monsoon_ in my department to force me into compliance.”

“That’s not true!”

“I’m not one of your _underlings_ , Granger—”

“I never said you were! You’re wrong—”

“ _I’m not!_ ” Draco yelled, then lowered his voice after taking a deep, shaky breath, grasping for the last bit of his composure, but finding nothing but air. “I’m not. And I’d rather take my chances against a magic-absorbing runestone that’s being protected by a fucking _cloud_ than to stay in here _one more second_ and let you go on your self-righteous tirade when _I’m_ the one who should be yelling at _you_.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“ _I’m_ the one who _loves you_ , Hermione, and you don’t feel the same way!”

And while Granger did an accurate impression of a suffocating fish, Draco walked out and embraced the storm.


	8. Breath Of Life

**_8_ **

_Breath of Life_

Draco once found comfort in the simplicity of Murphy’s Law: if anything could go wrong it would. But when Voldemort dropped dead and Potter spoke on his behalf, it seemed the majority of his bad luck had run out. He briefly wondered if he was due for another round about thirty minutes into his stare-off with Blaise.

Without remembering how, he found himself standing in the centre of his friend’s office after leaving Granger in the Void Room. Draco Floo called Patil, who was still at home, in lieu of a response to Blaise’s initial question of ‘ _What are you doing here?’_ He instructed her to tell the Keepers to report to the department, but to inform their Unspeakables and interns that they were to stay at home.

Then, he sat down and refused to answer Blaise’s question.

Refused to think about anything.

Well, until the floor started shaking violently with enough intensity to make them both grab the arms of their chairs. Draco held on just long enough to get his bearing. Blaise used one hand to shield his coffee from debris as picture frames fell from his walls. The shriek of voices and crash of glass propelled him into action rather than immobility.

The disturbance could only have come from one place: The Department of Mysteries

His first thought was irrational, but he’d left _Granger_ down there alone.

His second… wasn’t so much a thought as it was him internally yelling at himself about his first thought, but at the same time understanding that while he was furious at her—and he was _very_ angry—he wasn’t a complete bastard.

And fuck if loving her hadn’t clouded his judgment.

Case in point: his exit from Blaise’s office.

With only one destination in mind, Draco didn’t wait for the shaking to stop. He left in a flurry of disoriented movements that had him first bumping into walls, then using his hands to both keep himself from falling over and cut through the crowd of people seeking cover. By the time Draco made it to the lift, the tremors just _stopped_ and an eerie silence fell in the aftermath. People slowly emerged from their offices and departments, looking around in confused awe while making sure everyone else was unharmed.

Draco said nothing to anyone; he was already unsettled, stomach churning with an unfamiliar feeling. It was the sort of unease that kept his heart somewhere in his throat and his foot tapping impatiently on the marble until the doors opened.

After stepping on the empty lift, he pressed the button for Level Nine multiple times until the doors finally shut. Probably sensing his jittery restlessness, the lift moved faster than he’d ever experienced, and before he knew it, the doors were opening on Level Nine.

He rushed down the same hall he walked every morning, only to find a thoroughly soaked, but positively _wild_ -looking Granger at the end of it, beating on the entrance chamber with the closed fist that contained her wand. On the floor next to her, there was an empty glass jar with a lid that was— _unsurprisingly_ —half-full of water. There was a growing puddle around her feet as more water poured from her.

Draco would have laughed at the sight had he not been so fucking _relieved_.

But did he express that?

No.

“What the _hell_ happened to you?”

Granger beat on the door one last time, then kicked it for good measure before turning to him and making an almost feral noise of frustration. “I came back here after getting my jar from my office, then I went to the Artefact Room to reset the wards. I thought that I could get the runestone into the jar if I just—”

“ _What_ did you do?” Draco approached her, momentarily forgetting the long list of reasons why he was so angry.

She didn’t exactly look proud of herself when she responded. “I touched it with the tip of my wand to nudge it off the shelf and into the jar. I got zapped by magical lightning for my trouble.” That was when he noticed her jumper was torn below her elbow, discoloured. “No idea why I thought it could possibly be that easy, but I had to try.” Granger gingerly presented her arm to him. Draco was half-listening, concentrating as he rolled up her sleeve, revealing the nasty-looking burn on her soaked skin. She winced.

“Looks worse than it feels, honestly. I’ll heal it later. I have a vial of dittany in my office.”

“Shut up.” Then he added, “ _Please_.”

Healing was not his speciality, but Draco took out his wand and got to work; he did the best he could without thinking. Granger’s skin was too warm when he finished, but there wasn’t much left of the burn except an irritated patch.

“Thank you.”

They both heard a loud crash of thunder and looked at the entrance chamber.

“What the hell is going on in there?”

Granger looked sheepish. “ _Well_ …” Draco groaned, not liking at all how this was going. “The stone did _not_ appreciate my attempt. The runes turned bright red, the stone itself started shaking right before the ground did. I got out and came out here to try and find _you_ , but the doors shut and locked behind me and…” She shrugged. “You’re all caught up.”

Draco swore under his breath. “The department has gone into a containment lockdown. It’s a safety measure to protect the rest of the Ministry from being blown to bits by what we do down here.”

“That’s comforting, but how—”

“I’m the Department Head. I have access.”

“Great, because I have an idea. Of course, the _responsible_ thing to do would be to wait for backup, but the Artefact Room…”

With its wards being sucked up by the runestone, they would eventually fail and destroy all the precious artefacts they hadn’t been able to move.

Waiting for help was simply out of the question.

Before he could inform her of his decision, the ground started shaking again, harder and far more intensely than what he’d felt in Blaise’s office. The lanterns on the wall snuffed out, plunging them into darkness.

Blindly, Draco reached for her as the quaking forced him to his knees, bringing her down with him. He could feel the vibrations in his bones and could hardly keep his balance, even that close to the ground. But he made sure to cover her wet head with his arms, instinctively curling himself over her as she clung to him.

When it stopped, the lights came back on and they both lifted their heads. Still trying to get his bearings, he closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he found her already looking at him. It wasn’t exactly a glare, but something… softer?

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Draco nodded, not really in the mental space for sarcasm. They got back to their feet.

“So, your idea is…” He gave her an expectant look.

“Not fully-formed, but you should take off your shoes and set a warming charm. The water is freezing and we might need to swim at some point.”

“Swim?” He went to the entrance chamber door and tapped it with his wand. When the doors opened, the water—stopped by the containment charms over the department—was up to his ankles. “Is my department flooding? _Why_ is my department flooding?”

“Possibly. I noticed it when I was almost out. Did Magical Maintenance check the drains?”

“No, they didn’t, but I think the quake damaged them because everything was draining just fine before. Maybe? I have no idea.”

At the look on his face, Granger held her hands up in mock-surrender. “Don’t ask me how. For once in my life, I don’t want an answer. I just want to neutralise the bloody thing and go on about my day.”

It was a fair point that he actually agreed with.

The runestone was more trouble than it was worth. It had to go.

Granger narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, then looked over at the rainwater that was slowly rising; stopping at the doorway as if held there by an invisible force. “I think we can use the flooding to our advantage.”

“I don’t follow.”

“We have a better shot of getting the runestone into the jar if we’re underwater. I observed earlier that the rain doesn't act like typical precipitation. Unlike natural water, it doesn't seem to be acting as a conduit. It has magical properties from being spawned by the runestone and it seems to be sentient. It doesn’t like to be touched or moved, but if we maneuver it into the jar while it's still surrounded by the water of its own making, it should stay suspended in a protective bubble. It might not even know it’s being moved. Then we need to swim to the Void Room and throw it in. Problem solved.”

“Chances for success?”

“Fifty-two percent.”

“You just made that up.”

Granger smirked. “Of course I did. The actual odds are _much_ worse.”

Well, fuck the odds because they didn’t matter anymore. Not when his department was _flooding_. The trajectory of the entire situation had been elevated from emergency to critical mass. They could no longer wait for a Rune Specialist or Curse-Breaker. Draco removed his jacket in a rush. Granger, silently acknowledging his agreement, took off her boots and walked past him to cast a Patronus. Draco rolled the sleeves of his shirt to his elbow while Granger sent her message through her otter.

“For backup we’ll inevitably need,” she said without looking over her shoulder at him.

Together, they watched the otter scamper off.

“Patil?” he guessed. She would be the only one, outside of him, who could access the department while under containment. The issue was Patil couldn’t swim. She would need—

“And Harry.” Granger finally looked at him. “They’ll bring everyone we need to help.” She looked down at his feet. “You won’t be able to swim well with shoes on.”

She was right. He didn’t need anything to make this task any more difficult. Draco took them off and set them next to his jacket before joining her where she stood just outside the entrance.

They cast their own warming charms.

Draco nodded, eyes fixed on the water while listening to the maelstrom they were about to walk into. The rain sounded like a shower on the rising water, the thunder was as loud as bombs, and the wind was ferociously blowing drops in all directions. There was an ominous groan coming from somewhere deep in the department. He and Granger exchanged looks.

“Are you ready?” Granger asked.

_No_. Because he wasn’t a lunatic that charged into danger. But Granger looked unbothered in a particularly Gryffindor sort of way that usually led to someone— _probably him_ —getting hurt. It was so very her; he probably should have been more worried.

Bizarrely, he wasn’t.

In fact, he led the way.

Hearing the storm was one thing, but standing in the centre of it was something _entirely_ different.

Water was past his ankles, but Draco couldn’t focus on anything because he was _freezing_. Warming charm only kept him from rapidly losing body heat, but didn’t stop him from feeling the wind as it cut through him like tiny needles piercing his skin all at once. Draco was blinded by the rain beating down on him, instantly soaked through his clothes and socks. It didn’t matter when he shielded his face, didn’t matter when he turned around to make sure Granger was still there. It was too much. Too intense.

But she was behind him, fighting the wind with every step she took towards him. The jar was in one hand and her wand was in the other.

The entrance sealed behind them in a flash of white, officially trapping them inside.

Granger tried to yell over the storm. He could barely make out her mouth moving, but he couldn’t hear over the howling wind. All of a sudden, the direction of the magical wind changed, which sent Granger crashing into him.

“It wasn’t this bad!” she shouted, now close enough for him to hear.

A flash of lightning shot over their head, lower than he was comfortable with, but still closer to the now black cloud than not. The thunder that followed felt like a physical force that would have cost Draco his footing had it not been for the wind gusting in the wrong direction that propelled him forward rather than back.

Draco lowered his head, Granger not too far behind him as they pressed on, each step harder than the last. They continued on, traveling deeper and deeper into his department, and all the while, the water was rising higher.

By the time they passed the Void Room, where the water rolled to the doorway and stopped,halted by the invisible force, the flood waters were at Granger’s knees. And even through the elements, he could hear her sloshing behind him and used that to make sure she didn’t get too far from her.

They passed two other sealed doors.

At the Hall of Records, Draco touched his wand on the door frame and the door closed, sealing with a stream of bright light.

They passed the Brain Room, where they briefly saw the encephala erratically splashing around in their tank of green solution. Granger stopped to look, curious as always, but he yelled at her just loud enough for her to hear him and nod, continuing on.

Draco tapped his wand against that door and stumbled back when they shut with a boom.

That time, he turned his head away from the light only to find another one coming at him. The lightning came so close to Draco’s head that he had to duck to avoid getting hit. It continued on, cutting high over Granger, but they both looked at each other in shock.

“That was close!” Granger yelled.

“Too close!”

By the time they reached the end of the third corridor, ready to make the first left in the right direction—the Artefact Room at the end of the long hall—the water had risen and was to the top of his calves and the middle of Granger’s thighs.

The now familiar sound of her sloshing through water stopped abruptly.

Draco turned around, ready to see nothing where she was supposed to be, but she was still there. Her wand was out and she had a familiar fierce look on her wet face. Draco had just enough time to briefly wonder what the fuck she was doing when she cast a non-verbal protection charm that shot right past him, colliding with the bolt of lightning in a flash of white, hot _magic_ that lasted the length of a heartbeat before the lightning dissipated into nothing.

With wide eyes, he looked back at Granger, who was pleased with herself, despite being thoroughly drenched.

“Every one hundred seconds, the lightning strikes! It doesn’t like defensive spells!”

Because of course she would figure out the timing. _And_ be right about it.

A hundred seconds later, Draco used his own protection charm just outside the closed doors of the Artefact Room. Granger, with a tight grip on her jar, gave him a little nod before he used his wand to open the door, the quick action causing a wave of water to crash into them both. Draco managed to stay on his feet, but Granger went under with a shout. Then, before his heart had a moment to kick into a higher gear, she came right back up.

Well, first her hand holding the jar appeared.

Then, the rest of her emerged, sputtering and using the back of her wand hand to wipe her face. “I’m fine!” Granger assured, lips chattering. “Let’s go.”

Draco nodded and took a breath before entering the room.

The door sealed shut behind them, per containment protocol.

The normally well-lit room was nearly too dark as the lights had been covered by the black cloud. The dormant section was towards the back of the room. In the Artefact Room, the water was colder, bitingly so, and he felt the last of his warming charm being sucked away, leaving a chill unlike anything he’d felt before.

Right.

The runestone sucked magic.

_All magic_.

And they were trying to cut off its power source.

No wonder it was pissed off.

The wind gusts were harder as they made their way to the source of it all, now nearly having to wade instead of walk as the cold water was to his chest. Instead of using a protection charm, Draco quickly dipped below the surface to avoid the lightning, not knowing if it was a good move until a bolt skimmed the surface.

Granger had the same idea and emerged after him, skin almost as pale as his and breathing hard.

The full extent of how fucking _cold_ the water was hit him the moment he was out of it. The chill felt like it sliced through him, freezing all the way to his bones. Coupled with the fierce winds, it was harder for him to move, but he did, marvelling dully that while his body was so cold, it felt like it was on _fire_. It was painful, but he continued on through the heavy rain until he realised that mixed into the rain were small chunks of ice. _Hail_.

“We need to fix the wards!” Granger shouted.

His eyes burned from the rain and hail hitting him in the face, but he could barely make out the slight shimmer of a weakening ward protecting the artefacts from the flooding room. Draco nodded, his verbal agreement lost to the howling wind. Together, they made quick work of resetting them—hopefully for the last time—as they pushed their way towards the section where all dormant artefacts were stored.

By the time they were mere metres away from the runestone, it was glowing like a beacon, each pulse a different colour that transfixed them both. Granger’s movements, Draco noticed, had become stiff, the only sign of her body’s reaction to the temperature.

When he cast a warming charm for her, she whipped her head in his direction. Granger waded over to him, the water just under her shoulders. “No unnecessary magic, Malfoy! It won’t last!”

“And neither will you if you freeze!”

She gave him a pointed look, which would have packed a little more punch had she not been blinking the rain from her eyes, had her teeth not been chattering, and had there not been pieces of hail stuck in her hair. Draco didn’t see her mouth move, but he felt warmth spread throughout his body and took what felt like his first deep breath since the first warming charm had worn off. Granger didn’t have to yell over the rain when she touched his face and said, “Same goes for you.”

Then she pulled him under the water with her as another streak of lightning skimmed the surface, so bright it was almost blinding.

Draco resurfaced after her and Granger pushed the jar into his chest. “You’re a better swimmer.” She answered his question before he could ask. “While it stopped Skeeter from transforming, I doubt putting the runestone in there is going to stop the storm or the flood. I’ll cover you.”

“Magic?”

“Essential, of course. Defensive spells only.” She gave him a confident look that turned serious as the hail and rain continued to fall all around them. “Be careful.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Keep talking like that, Granger, and you’ll make me think you actually _care_.” Before she could say anything in response—she’d opened her mouth, but water rushed in the moment she’d fixed it to speak—he cast a bubble-head charm and went under, knowing that there was an unknown time limit before the charm would fail as the runestone devoured the magic.

It was easier to swim, with one arm curled around a jar and clutching a wand, than walk. Faster than he’d anticipated, Draco broke the surface in front of the shelf that held the runestone.

The stone was _not_ happy with his proximity. It started shaking and he barely missed being burned like Granger had been. Draco unscrewed the top of the jar, filled it with some of the water he was currently treading, and quickly covered the runestone with it. He flipped over the little pedestal on which the stone sat and watched the glowing runestone stall right in the middle of the jar, suspended. He hastily slid the pedestal away, screwed on the lid, and sealed it with a charm, hoping it would last.

As soon as the sealing charm was in place, everything _stopped_.

There was _nothing_ except the sound of their heavy breathing and the sloshing of water settling after rough winds. But the air felt wrong. Twisted. His eyes barely had time to find Granger’s before he felt the runestone _vibrate_ inside the jar, then unleash its fury.

A pulse of magical energy rippled out from the jar, the wave sending him flying backwards. He crashed into the shelves behind him with enough force to take the breath from his lungs. Before he could think, he felt the shock of his body hitting the icy water. As if weighed down by stones, he sank to the floor as the room shook violently with the force of the runestone’s rage amid a menacing groan.

Broken shelves, artefacts, and chunks of ice fell into the water, sinking and floating all around him as the water steadily rose. Meanwhile, Draco struggled to catch his breath, thankful for the bubble-head charm that was, miraculously, still intact. The pain in the back of his head and the sharp ringing in his ears were enough to make his vision blur, but he clung to consciousness with grim urgency until he could fully breathe, think, and see.

The first thing he noticed was that his wand was missing.

And while that was cause for serious concern, he didn’t have time to react, because before he could blink, his entire world lit up. Silent trails of white light, so blinding they made his head throb, arced above the surface of the water. The two forces crashed together, neither backing down or giving in.

_Granger_.

Draco kicked himself into a new gear, getting himself upright under the water and looking around until he saw what he was looking for. The jar was still sealed shut, but like Granger had hypothesized, it wasn’t strong enough to contain the runestone’s magic. The stone and unknown rune were rapidly changing colours, as if both were on colour wheels that were being spun in opposite directions. It sent pulse after pulse of magic to break itself free from the unbreakable charm.

But it held firm.

For now.

At least until it inevitably feasted on the magic that had created the jar in the first place.

Draco swam to it, his movements a bit slow. Even in the freezing water, the jar was hot like molten lava to the touch and burned his fingertips; he quickly released it. Draco looked around, finding nothing with which to grab it. Thunder rumbled above and he kicked to the surface, swimming towards where he thought Granger might be. Before he could take a final inhale, his bubble-head charm failed, allowing water to breach.

Now, his quest to swim right to Granger turned into a race for the surface, which seemed far off as he dodged shelf fragments, artefacts, sinking chunks of ice, and fought an invisible force that pressed him down.

He had seconds, not minutes, and kicked out, making sure to keep himself as calm as possible, given the situation, or it might not end well for him. But the urgency was there in the back of his mind. It remained, even when he burst through the surface, taking a shuddering euphoric lungful of air. 

All around him was chaos.

Draco didn’t know which hurt worse, the hard rain or the hail. He scanned the room as best as he could in the near darkness and poor visibility, trying to figure how much the water had risen and immediately recognising that they were closer to the ceiling than the floor. He thought what he was hearing was thunder, but it was actually the wind that was audibly roaring all around them, creating a wave that he hadn’t felt underwater. He watched the winds swirling, the water churning in a vortex centered over where he knew the jar was located.

And that was when he spotted her.

_Granger._

In the middle of it all.

Fighting the waves as she aggressively took on a cloud that hurled bolts of lightning at her with increasing frequency.

As with everything in her life, she was focused on her task with ruthless determination, power crackling in the air around her. She was brilliant in a way he’d always known, but he’d never witnessed it so closely, so clearly.

Not like this.

Transfixed, he watched the eruption of light as her protection spell hit the lightning; the resulting fireworks made him briefly turn his head from the brightness because it _hurt_. He felt nauseous and dizzy but shook the pain away as best as he could, finding her again. Granger was looking around frantically, her mouth moving as she called out something he couldn’t hear with the sound of the roaring wind and the ringing in his own ears. She sank beneath the surface, resurfacing a little closer to him, still looking. Searching.

Then he heard his name cut through the storm.

He could see the waves beginning to swell, rolling into her from behind. Draco swam to her, towards her voice, dipping under the surface to cut through the cold water faster. And when he came up behind her, she had just diffused another lightning bolt.

Then she turned around and saw him.

Granger honestly looked relieved to see him. Then she actually _looked at him_ , her face morphing to alarm. “Your _face_ ,” was all she said. Ah, he was injured. That explained enough for now. They had no time for anything else because they were in the middle of a goddamn magical storm.

Just one thing.

“I lost my wand,” he blurted out.

Granger gave him an incredulous look before shaking her head, pointing hers, and summoning it from wherever it ended up after the explosion. Draco caught it in one wet hand, feeling far better.

“The jar—”

“Go under.”

And he did. Now that he knew that he was injured, the water seemed to burn worse. Or maybe his adrenaline had shut off. No matter. He stayed underwater while Granger made short work of the lightning, then resurfaced again. She looked torn between wanting to abandon their mission and haul him off to St. Mungo’s and doing something reckless.

“Where’s the jar?” she shouted over the storm.

“On the floor with the stone sealed inside!” He tried to turn too quickly, and not only did it hurt, it brought too much attention to whatever the hell was wrong with his face. She winced at it, but that was her only reaction.

“Protection charm every sixty seconds. Don’t look at the light.” And she set her bubble-head charm, sinking below the surface.

Draco’s heart was racing as he treaded water in the middle of maelstrom, counting to the next bolt as he rode the building waves. The water was still rising steadily. He shut his eyes before casting his first charm, not opening them until he was sure the lightning was gone. He did it three more times before everything started shaking again, the thunder deafening him with its angry roar and the wind forcing his eyes shut.

The spike in the storm’s intensity told him one thing:

Granger had the jar.

He set his bubble head charm and sank into the icy depths, still not accustomed to the chill. He waited two lightning strikes, then sure enough, Granger was swimming towards him; the jar with the angry runestone was in a bubble of magic she controlled with her wand. Simple, but it did the trick. For now. They stayed underwater as they swam to the door, more to avoid the thunderstorm than anything.

Draco made it first, touching his wand to the door. Nothing happened.

He did it again.

Nothing.

Both of their bubble head charms failed at the same time, likely due to their proximity to the runestone. Draco made a gesture with both hands and she nodded; they both resurfaced at the same time. Granger’s hand was still underwater, holding on to her bubble.

“What happened?” Granger asked, seeming to struggle with the jar under the water. “I’m not sure how much longer it’ll hold.”

Draco had no idea, but it felt like they were well and truly trapped in there, which wasn’t good, because the room was almost completely underwater. There was no telling, if they set another bubble-head charm, how long it would work. Drowning was an _actual_ possibility, and judging from the hyper-focused look on Granger’s face, it was something that had dawned on her as well. But she seemed far calmer about the possibility.

The lightning that whizzed by their heads was stronger than any they’d encountered previously.

Granger looked up. “I could always blow a hole in the ceiling.”

“Is property damage your answer to everything?”

“Sometimes.”

Which meant most of the time. Draco tapped his wand against the door once again, then pressed his hand against it. When he looked back, Granger was staring past him with a thoughtful look on her face.

“You’re _entirely_ too calm right now, Granger.”

“I’ve been in worse situations with a lot lower chance of survival, so I think we’re good here.” Granger looked up again. “I still like my property damage idea.”

Draco looked at the door. “Actually, I do too. Only, not the ceiling; that’s insane.”

She hummed in a ‘ _let’s agree to disagree’_ sort of way—like they weren’t in the middle of a goddamn magical deluge. Draco rolled his eyes, set his bubble head charm again, then hers, and for once, Granger followed his lead, sinking beneath the surface. They swam a safe distance from the door, with Granger pulling along her stubborn bubble holding the sparking runestone all the way. 

As they descended, Draco looked around. It was strange seeing the Artefact room completely submerged, the streaks of lightning spreading in all directions across the surface of the water as if it were looking for them. He could see the shelves of artefacts they’d warded, noticing that the proximity of the runestone was making the shimmer of the wards fade slightly. Above them, artefacts, debris from the explosion, and loose parchment were floating like they were in some sort of dream.

For a moment, Draco found himself fascinated by the sight of Granger.

Her skin was pale from the cold, her face expressing her calm irritation, even behind the bubble. But it was actually her hair that grabbed his attention as it floated around her with a life all of its own. She looked almost ethereal in the insistent lightning strikes. Draco shook the thought from his head and gestured to the door when they touched the ground, which made her nod in response.

_Ready?_

The blasting spell he shouted sounded muffled in his own ears, but the unmistakable white spark that shot from the tip of his wand hit home in the way he expected.

_And_ in a way he did not.

The power of the underwater blast from his spell sent them both backwards first, then forward as all the water poured from the Artefact Room into the hall, sucking them both into a vortex of quickly moving water. Once again, Draco lost his wand and sight of Granger instantly as they were flooded from the room in a chaotic sequence of spins and twists.

Head over feet.

Feet over head.

Rolling and spiralling out of control.

He collided with what felt like a brick wall before being carried on through the rushing water, vision hazy and ears ringing. Draco reached—for what he didn’t know, just something to stop him. His hands came back empty, grasping at water.

And when he hit something harder than the first wall, something _more_ unforgiving, some part of him screamed in pain.

Water poured into his bubble head charm and Draco had the awareness to suck in a final breath.

The last conscious thought he had was, _definitely my time for bad luck._


	9. Communication

****

**_9_ **

_Communication_

Draco came to with Granger hovering, mouth pressed against his as she quite literally breathed life into him.

He turned his head and coughed up what would have been a frightening amount of water, but it was only air. He collapsed back on the ground, gasping, wet and bedraggled, and _completely_ confused. In pain everywhere, Draco found himself unable to distinguish which part of him hurt the most. There was an unfamiliar ache in his chest that almost burned. He looked around, puzzled by the fact that he was lying outside the Department of Mysteries. 

Then realisation.

_And_ Granger.

She was just as dishevelled; her wet hair stuck to her face and neck, clothes clinging to her shivering body. But none of that seemed to matter to her. He could hear voices, distant but close by, but Granger was staring at him with the sort of absolute focus he saw when she was working through a problem. The only difference were the tears, the signs of panic, and utter _relief_ that she wasn’t bothering to hide. _Huh?_

Over her, Patil appeared in his periphery.

“Thanks for not drowning, you absolute _wanker_.” While Patil’s voice sounded altered, as if she were underwater, he didn’t miss the edge that made him realise he might have been closer to dying than he cared to consider. She turned to Granger and rested a hand on her shoulder. Her voice was softer, gentler as she said, “The Healers are here.”

“Thank you, Padma.” Granger accepted the small gesture. Her voice also sounded funny to him. Muffled. Draco rubbed his head and tried to sit up, ready to decline any and all help—thank you very much—but her hand on his shoulder stopped him and… _fuck._

_Right_.

The pain. Nausea from the small movement made him attempt to inhale, but he found himself unable to complete the action without feeling like he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Let them help you.” And she gave him a meaningful look. “Let _me_ help you.”

Because he was too discombobulated to argue, the Healers converged on him and Granger left them to it. For over half an hour, they worked in a flurry of motions, speaking to each other in rapid-fire Healer lingo that left him dizzy but mainly aggravated. Still, Draco answered their questions, gave his name, the date, his Hogwarts house, and his birthday.

He allowed them to wave their wands for diagnostic charms, listened as they told him about his injuries: a severe concussion from the ridiculous amount of times he’d hit his head today, bruised ribs from Granger’s enthusiastic resuscitation efforts, a magical facial burn that went from the side of his forehead and ran just below his ear, and a ruptured eardrum from the explosion he’d taken the brunt of. Made sense of his hearing issues.

And while they healed him, they still suggested he take a few days off to recover. No reading. No work. Minimise stress, which essentially meant he shouldn’t communicate with anyone because _everyone_ stressed him out in some capacity. They gave him potions to help and eased him into a seated position, even though every cell in his body rejected the idea, despite being technically healed. 

“You’ll be sore for several hours, Mr. Malfoy. Please make sure you rest.”

“He will!” Patil called from somewhere and he scowled in every direction, just to make sure it reached her somehow.

Draco heard Potter’s laughter and did everything he could not to give in to the childish urge to sulk in favour of letting them scan his body for any hidden issues. While he couldn’t see Patil from his spot on the floor (because he was fine with not standing right then), he could see Granger glare at Potter before politely clearing her throat and continuing on with what she was saying to his team of Aurors.

It was a little strange, but while the Healers worked, he noticed how she kept herself close enough for him to hear her… and now that he was sitting up, she kept herself in his line of sight, sneaking looks in his direction when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

By the time Healers were well and truly finished with him, she was talking to someone from Magical Maintenance who looked a bit scared for his life as he nodded and went to pass her instructions along to his group that stood waiting by the entrance chamber.

What the fuck was going on?

Granger went back to speaking to Potter and his three Aurors, all of whom were just as wet as the two of them, which gave him ideas about how he’d made it out of the flood water. Honestly, the last thing Draco needed was to owe Potter _anything_ _else_ , but his odds didn’t look good.

Especially when the git just _smiled_ at him.

Someone blocked his vision and Draco raised his head, frowning. “What do you want, Blaise?”

“Just here to welcome you back to the land of the living.”

“You don’t even work here.”

He gave a little shrug that meant _true, but_ … “I Floo called my wife after you ran out of my office like a _Gryffindor_.” It sounded like every bit of the insult he intended it to be. “Which brought her here in just enough time to receive Granger’s Patronus and round up the rescue crew, so I’d like to say that my contribution to your continued survival was essential.” Blaise looked at both sides of his face and tsked. “I see they healed your face. _How unfortunate_.”

But he offered his hand and Draco took it, allowing his friend to pull him to his feet. He even waited a few seconds to let go for Draco to get his bearings. Looking from side to side, around all the people milling about, he leaned forward a bit to ask Blaise a very important question. “How bad was it?”

In response, Blaise took out his wand and dried him off with a charm; the Healers hadn’t bothered, more concerned with his injuries than the fact that he was still wet. In all honesty, he hadn’t noticed. Maybe because of the warming charm. Blaise pocketed his wand and cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his head. “It wasn’t _great_.”

His careful response translated Blaise-speak meant not good _at all_.

“Potter’s team had been in there all of five minutes when they came out with you and Granger, who was frantic in a sort of composed way—which is actually more worrisome than her snippy interdepartmental memos and her complicated organisation system that only you understand. The Healers weren’t here yet, and she wouldn’t let anyone else touch you. Not even Padma, who knows how to revive someone. She vanished the water from your lungs and you still weren’t breathing so she—” He made a complicated gesture. “ _She saved you_.”

Ah, so he didn’t owe Potter another life debt. Just Granger.

Honestly, he didn’t know which one was worse.

Blaise patted his shoulder in fake sympathy and left him in favour of Patil, who was talking to his Keepers, all of whom were sneaking looks in Draco’s direction. Blaise gave his wife a fond look that she returned and continued on to the lift.

Rather than be stared at, Draco approached the team preparing to enter his… _wait_.

His department wasn’t that flooded anymore, which meant the runestone had been sorted.

Draco cast a look over at Granger, who was now standing with Patil and his Keepers, giving them instructions with short, precise hand gestures. Her face was stern and left little room for argument. Phillips had a Quick-Quotes Quill going next to her, afraid that she was going to miss something. Dumont looked completely fascinated by Granger’s presence, but she paid him no attention. And the others just stared at her, their heads nodding like they knew exactly what was going on, when they clearly had no idea.

So, normal then.

When White interrupted her—likely with a question that either challenged her authority or _her_ —she gave him such a withering look that it made Draco genuinely smile for the first time all day.

Normally, he would have had _strong opinions_ about anyone handling his department’s business, but honestly, it was _Granger_ and that was to be expected. In the silence of his own mind, he could admit that he trusted her, he also knew she wouldn’t give any order that would hurt him, his position, or his department.

Besides, he didn’t need the inevitable headache that came with talking to his Keepers.

No stress or whatever the Healers had said.

Next to him, the _still_ -useless Wakefield cleared his throat, looking visibly nervous about… well, _everything_. He was sweating and gripping his wand like a security blanket. “Senior Undersecretary Granger has already given them explicit instructions to clear and upgrade all the drains and they have one team in there right now doing just that. I’m here to gather the runestone from the Void Room. That’s all.”

Draco honestly had no objections to that so he just nodded. “Okay.”

Yet the wizard went on, overexplaining. “She wants them to completely dry out the entire department, update the paint, and redo the floors that are likely damaged…” _Good idea_. “She also asked that they, um, replace anything that has been destroyed, including all the shelves in the Artefact Room.” _Also a good idea_.

The Magical Maintenance wizard next to Wakefield looked so jumpy he wondered what else Granger had said to him. Whatever it was, Draco would have paid good money to witness it. Because he was every bit the wanker people accused him of being.

“We’re headed in now and…” The wizard next to Wakefield looked everywhere before he said in a low voice, “Magical Maintenance apologies that we did not get the order to check the drains completed in a timely fashion.” He leaned in a little closer, which automatically made Draco take a step back because the bloke was in his _space_. “Please don’t tell my boss.”

It was so bizarre that Draco had no response. He just blinked and gave him a curt nod before allowing the wizard to do his job. With his arms folded, he watched as the team set bubble head charms and entered the wall of water that didn’t quite reach the top of the large doorway. The fact that there was no sound coming from his department except the sloshing of water was like music to his ears.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Granger said from behind in an all too familiar tone—really quite bossy. He looked over his shoulder, noting that she was now completely dry, her hair fluffy from the charm and as indomitable as she was. The look she gave him matched her voice, and when he turned to face her, she folded her arms, mirroring him.

“I’d like to oversee the clean-up process, thank you,” Draco answered haughtily.

“Padma and your Keepers will coordinate the task.” Granger didn’t give him any room to argue. Which was just like her.

But it wasn’t like _him_ to not challenge _her_. “I’m of the firm belief that in order to get things done correctly, I have to do them myself.”

Granger gave him a rather diplomatic nod. “I’m of the same school of thought, as well. However, I’ve given instructions for them to plan and execute the clean-up process once they obtain clearance to re-enter the department. Should anyone—” She cut her eyes over to the group that were huddled together talking. “Should _anyone_ go against any of my directions, they’ll have to answer to you… _and me_.”

Draco was man enough to know which threat was bigger.

But that was something he’d always liked about her. Even before… whatever they had.

“Now that that’s settled, I have instructed them to leave your office until your return. I have also arranged for everyone to sign non-disclosure agreements where they agree not to discuss the Department of Mysteries operations to anyone who was not present here today. Lastly, I have instructed your Keepers to inform their teams that they should return to work on Monday. Oh, and I’ve coordinated lunch for your department all next week.”

For morale.

“Oh, and one last thing. The Artefacts Team is awake. They don’t remember much, but—”

“It seems like you’ve handled everything.”

And in a short amount of time.

Frankly, his head was swimming with all the information that she’d dumped on him.

He was still grappling with what had happened.

“Almost.” Granger made a useless attempt at patting down her hair. “There _is_ the matter of your wand that hasn’t been recovered, but Harry said he’d bring it to your flat when they find it.” He honestly hadn’t thought about it. “There’s one more matter I need to discuss, but I’m so far behind schedule that I need to get to my office.” She peered up at him. “Walk with me?”

It was a question and not an order.

She was done giving them.

Draco felt unusually subdued after the fucking terrible morning he’d had, so for once in his damn life outside of an emergency situation, he did something she asked without argument. Draco put on his shoes and jacket that were still where he’d left them before following Granger to the lift.

“What happened?” he asked once the lift started moving.

Granger looked supremely uncomfortable “Um… We were swept up in the current. I—I lost you immediately, but it didn’t take me too long to find you again. And by the time I did, you were unconscious and your bubble-head charm had popped. But that was about the same time Harry’s team found us.”

“The runestone?”

“Destroyed. Harry found it right where I dropped it after we got you out. He threw it in the Void Room and said the storm stopped instantly. My jar broke.” She sounded sort of sad about it in the fond, nostalgic way that people often sound when they reminisce about pleasant childhood memories.

Then he remembered that she’d actually _kept a_ _person_ in that jar and, well, it didn’t sound so innocent anymore.

A bit scary, actually, but in a way that made him smother his smile behind a cough.

“So, in the end, Potter got to be the hero.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you—”

The rest of his question died as lift changed directions. Granger grabbed the railing in front of her while he grabbed the one above his head. The lift changed directions again, bringing her close enough for his hand to instantly curl around her, steadying her. She looked at him with a softer expression. “To answer your half-asked question, you were drowning, and I couldn’t let that happen, so I made a choice between you and the runestone.”

Before he could say anything in response, the doors opened on Level One and Granger filed out first. They made their way to her office, but not without passing her fill-in assistant, who stood up when she saw them. “Senior Undersecretary Granger, you’re very late for your meeting with—”

“Reschedule everything, please, as I will be leaving early via my private Floo,” she told the witch. “Please send my apologies.”

He wasn’t sure who was more shocked: him or her assistant.

Granger hadn’t taken a sick day, holiday, or even so much as _left_ _her office_ _early_ for any given reason _in years_. No emergencies, sudden illnesses, or in-need-of-a-break excuse.

_Nothing_.

“What—what excuse should I give?” Her assistant was apparently still trying—and failing—to recover from her shock.

Granger looked at her for several seconds with a pinched expression. Her eyes narrowed, then cut from her face to her desk where she was preparing to put documents for the Department of International Magic into the wrong place.

“I want to congratulate you for making it through your first week.” Her voice was pleasant in a chilly sort of way that made her assistant stand at attention. “This isn’t an easy position to have, no matter if it’s temporary. I thank you for being adaptable. That being said, when you finish rescheduling all of my meetings, please report to Olivia so that she can assist you with learning my filing system and other duties I expect you to fulfil while Amelia is on leave. Please _also_ have my filing corrected by the time you leave today. Olivia will help.”

She nodded, her wide eyes darting over to Draco, who was observing her with one slightly raised eyebrow and a very bored expression—the exact same one she’d given him when he’d first met her. Her smile was tight when she said, “I will, thank you, Senior Undersecretary Granger.”

“Have a nice weekend.”

Granger continued on to her office.

Concussed or not, Draco couldn’t help himself. “ _I_ have an appointment.” He smirked then followed behind Granger at enough of a leisurely pace that by the time he arrived at her door, she was actually sitting _on_ her tidy desk. The chairs that visitors usually sat in were pushed to either side. More than curious about the strange sort of informality she was displaying, Draco stepped into her office.

With a wave of her hand, she shut the door behind him.

Draco’s slightly muddled mind wrenched over into a new gear and started churning slowly. After their conversation in the lift, he had no more questions about what happened, about the runestone or anything. Granger had wrapped everything else up in a nice bow and there was no reason for him to be there. So, why was he? “As I recall, our conversation is over. I have no further questions.”

Granger’s hands gripped the end of the desk. “I do have one thing I need to discuss with you. If you would just take a seat.”

Stubbornly, he didn’t move.

And with a low noise that sounded every bit as irritated as she looked, Granger hopped off the desk and approached him carefully, as if she were unsure of his next move. Which should have been obvious to someone as bright as Granger—he was going to leave. It was the only viable option for someone who had nothing else to talk about. She stopped when they were toe to toe, lifting her eyes to meet his.

He really was going to do it.

He _could_ leave. Right then.

_He would._

“I’m going home.” She paused, still holding his gaze. “I’d like you to come with me.”

Granger had never been shy in her actions. She knew what she wanted, how she wanted it done, and was very detailed in her approach to accomplishing each of her goals. And while Draco always admired her directness, he found himself hating the way she could easily keep herself detached, locked away, and out of reach. Because, _obviously_ , he couldn’t anymore and that was _such_ a sore spot for him.

“No.” Draco was no longer sure if he was answering her or his own question.

“I expected that.” Granger lowered her head for a moment as she seemed to ready herself for a battle Draco didn’t feel like fighting. Not today, when his body had bruises he couldn’t see. “Just….” She took a hard breath. “Don’t say anything until I finish. You’ve got a nasty habit of running off before I have a chance to speak.”

“What could you _possibly_ have to say?”

“The same thing I’ve been trying to tell you for _six days_ now.” She sounded weary in all the ways he felt, but there was also determination in her voice. And in her movements. For the briefest of moments, he felt her fingertips against his—soft, tentative, and everything Granger _wasn’t_ around everyone else. Only him, now that he thought about it. “Let me clear up this miscommunication between us by saying what I _should_ have said that night.”

“And what’s that?”

She looked him right in the eyes. “I love you, too.” And once it was out, she smiled a bit. “You’re maddening and a _gigantic_ prat, but I must be a glutton for punishment because I _do_. Even before today. For _months_ , actually.”

As relieved as he felt, he just stared at her like she’d gone mad, while simultaneously processing the words he hadn’t expected. Granger made her move. She laced their fingers together, holding them up, testing the action, before deciding that it worked—that she liked it. _She loved_ _him_. She looked content, pleased with her decision, delighted with just holding his hand in her office when they’d done far, far more.

And because Draco was… _himself_ , he tried not to look too happy when he asked, “Is that all?”

Granger glared at him. “You’re _really_ going to make me give a speech, aren’t you?” This time, he did smile, and she rolled her eyes, huffing her extreme annoyance with him. “I take it all back.”

“Too late,” Draco told her smugly.

She narrowed her eyes at him and groaned. “ _Fine_ , here’s your speech. You’re a guarded bastard, who’ll say the sky is purple because you’re just too stubborn to admit it’s blue. You’ll throw away something that _works_ in order to protect yourself rather than talk it out, which infuriates me to no end.” Her demeanour changed as she began to articulate herself more genuinely. “But I know I’m not easy, and neither are you. We’re both going to make mistakes. I’m going to say the wrong things, you’re going to be a complete bastard, but I knew that right from the beginning. I knew that and I still lo—”

“This is a horrible speech.” But he hadn’t stopped smirking.

Granger squeezed his hand, and she wasn’t gentle about it. Draco suppressed his cringe while meeting her eyes in a challenge.

Her smile widened. “I don’t shag people I don’t like. Of course, it didn’t start off like that, because I very much _did not_ like you, but I fell in love with your mind before I fell in love with your face, so this is where I am. Like I said before, I won’t do this again with someone who can’t have a direct conversation about their feelings. It’s been more than sex to me for a while now, but the only reason I kept this to myself was because I didn’t want to force the issue and I’ve never been able to figure you out. Until Saturday, I had no idea that it was more than a consistent shag to you.”

If she could be honest, so could he. “Well, it is.”

“I gathered from the way you shouted it at me earlier.”

He cringed. “Yes, well, there’s something else you should know.”

“What’s that?”

Draco’s free hand rested on the small of her back as he leaned forward just a bit, keeping his voice low and honest, more direct than he’d ever been before. “I want you. No calendar. No scheduled time. No _rules_.”

“ _Oh_?” Her face softened into a smile. “Perhaps, I can agree to that.”

“Also, my favourite colour is blue…” he trailed off petulantly.

Which made her laugh until she saw that he was very serious. Not that his glares did anything to her, but she rolled her eyes yet again. “You’re ridiculous if you think I didn’t know that already. I’ve been waiting _ages_ for you to correct me.”

“You mean you—” _On purpose?_

“Draco,” she said testily. “We can talk later because, like I said before, this has been the longest morning, and I’m going home.” She fixed him with one of her candid expressions she’d often greeted him with when he stepped out of the Floo on Saturday nights. “And I’d like you to come with me.”

That time, Draco agreed with a deep, demanding kiss.

What he expected to happen next was _not_ what actually happened.

They fell asleep.

Or he did. He wasn’t exactly sure.

One minute, they were snogging and grappling for each other’s clothes. And the next, he was waking up with a still-sore body and a cramp in his empty stomach at almost eight in the evening. Draco got an odd kick from that, knowing he’d wasted an entire afternoon away doing nothing. That was so bizarrely unlike him—unlike them both—but it was a reward for the fact that his department was no longer under attack from an angry runestone.

Granger was already awake if the cold bed and the spare clothes and towel on the nightstand were indicative of anything. Had she even fallen asleep? Not likely, knowing her. And before he could roll his eyes (fondly), Draco spotted his wand next to his clothes. Not broken. He picked it up out of habit before he put it back down. He went into the bathroom only to find Granger already relaxing in the deep tub, eyes shut with her head resting on a bath pillow. The bubbles were up to her neck; her hair piled in a bun on the top of her head. The soft strains of the small wireless played soothing music.

Draco shut the door behind him to avoid letting the warmth out of the room and her eyes opened.

Her smirk was wicked. “Join me.”

“I thought you would have had enough water for the day.” Possibly for a lifetime.

“At least this is warm. Not to mention, I’m naked and there are a few drops of oil that’ll be just perfect for—”

He joined her in absolutely no time, settling in at the opposite end of the tub. It was obviously large enough for the two of them to be comfortable at their ends, but Granger cared little about space, moving to the point where they were sitting face to face like a couple of children, blowing froth at each other while sneaking little touches of water soaked skin.

Then bolder touches.

The water was hot, but not too hot—kept warm and inside the tub by charms.

She felt _good._

And so did he.

“You look well rested. How are you feeling?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she rested her head against his shoulder, raising gooseflesh on impact.

“Better.” Draco actually couldn’t remember being quite so relaxed in recent history. This was new. Different. He’d probably had her in every part of her house, except here. He felt her lips touch behind his ear. Then again.

“We’ve got a bit of time before dinner’s ready,” she whispered before leaning back to smile at him. “I made lasagna.”

Draco wrapped both arms around her warm body, adjusting so she could sit more comfortably on him. He kissed her chin and reminded her of something important. “You’re a terrible cook.”

She huffed. “Okay, it’s frozen. Bought it from Tesco.”

“Sounds about right.”

Granger chuckled and when she tangled her fingers through his hair, he closed his eyes for a moment, letting her angle his mouth to where she wanted him. But before she could lower her mouth to his, Draco surged up the small distance and kissed her deeply, letting them quickly escalate from sensual to hungry, relishing in the fact that he no longer had to hold back. He loved the soft noises and breaths coming from her. Loved the way she whispered his name between kisses, ghosting her lips against his, her eyes warm and heavy.

Loved… _her_.

And he told her.

Her eyes were fixed on him when she gasped, melting against him, breasts pressed firmly against his chest. Her hand moved between them as she brought him to life under the water. Draco closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of her touch. “You know…” She moved her hand and sat back just a bit. Draco groaned in pain. “I took your name out of my calendar.”

“Could give less than a fuck about that right now.” His fingers trailed over her skin beneath the surface, searching out the sensitive spots he knew. She groaned into his kiss, pulling the passion out of her. Draco was nothing if not direct, reaching, slipping fingers between her legs as she straddled him.

She was _open_ for him.

Granger moved his hand, then reached over his shoulder for a cake of soap that floated above the edge of the tub. She wet it and began to rub the bar all over his body, over his shoulders, his chest. It felt like a game. One that he very much wanted to join, but when he tried, she slapped his hand away. “No strenuous activity, remember?”

“ _Torture_ is pretty strenuous, and that’s what you’re doing.”

“You’re so dramatic. Stop whinging.” She fussed as raised up a bit, his hands automatically moving to her hips as they both looked down at the soapy water as if they could see through the bubbles. Granger’s wandering hand found him again, gripping gently, as she adjusted and lowered herself. They both groaned together. He savoured the tightness, the heat of her body as she enveloped him.

“Does this _feel_ like torture?” she whispered breathlessly, bracing one hand on the edge of the tub. And then…

And then they lost it.

Granger, who had a working knowledge of most everything, couldn’t figure out the logistics of bathtub sex. First mistake? Too much oil. Second? Her foot slipped, and she lost her balance a bit, which made her sink in too deep, but not in a good way, because the angle was now all wrong. Draco winced. “ _Do_ try not to snap my cock off.”

“A little _help_ , then!” She poked him in the chest. “Move your leg.”

“We’re in a goddamn bathtub, there’s not much more I can do here.” Then she started wiggling more, sloshing bubbly water around as she tried to find the right spot, the correct angle they’d had before.

Draco started laughing, and she glared at him, before trying again. And failing. Again. “In theory, this should be extremely sexy. In practice, it feels a bit like a mistake. Change of scenery?”

Which would have been an _excellent_ idea had they not smelled… burning.

In the most un-Granger-like move he’d ever seen, she shrieked, summoned her robe, and rushed out, leaving him alone to take care of the damage. Or maybe salvage it. He wasn’t sure. Either way, he wasn’t about to rush after her. Draco mourned the loss of his erection and sank under the water for a moment before he resurfaced, ran a hand over his wet hair and got out.

With a towel around his waist, Draco found Granger’s sharp glare cutting from the box, where the directions were spelled out, back to the oven top, where the charred results of her dinner plans sat. He stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t know how, but I set it too high.” She tossed the box on the counter and folded her arms across her chest. “It looks like tonight’s dinner plans are a bust.”

Draco peered over her head at the burned remains of a dinner he was already sceptical about eating. “There’s always takeaway.”

“True,” she said. “How about Thai?”

Actually, Draco wasn’t particularly hungry for food, and he told her that by dipping his head just enough to run a trail of kisses down her neck. “How about _this_?”

She turned around with a wicked grin. “This is good.”

Then he distracted Granger from her cooking mistake by pulling her into the bedroom, kicking the door shut, and finishing what they’d started in the tub.

Later on, after they got around to Thai and once Granger had fallen asleep after a second round, Draco laid next to her with the realisation that that perhaps mistakes weren’t so bad after all.

They were inevitable and unavoidable. _Humbling_. Sometimes painful proof of humanity, and he would continue to make them as long as he was alive. Draco’s mistake had guided him in the right direction by letting him experience the consequences of the wrong way. All of his mistakes—and there had been _many_ in his life—made him who he was and had led him, however unwilling, to where he was right now.

So, perhaps he could let go of his hatred of making mistakes because some of his had turned out to be worth the trouble.

Some perhaps even worth repeating.

But, as he now knew, one of them hadn’t been a mistake at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the prompter Dormiensa for this prompt that hit me in the face so hard. Also, thanks to my betas, floorcoaster and dreamsofdramione. Don't know what I would do without you both. Secret fest was secret. :)  
> Join me on Tumblr.


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